To Love and to Sin
by Kasmi Kassim
Summary: When does love become a sin? With his elfling lost and kingdom under attack, Thranduil must battle the evil without and within to save his child as young Legolas is plunged into the depths of intersecting love and sin. -Prequel to From Twilight to Dawn-
1. Darkening Forest

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Lord of the Rings.

**Rating**: PG-13 for implied adult themes. No graphic expression of disturbing content.

**Author's Note**: This can be read as a standalone piece as well as a prequel to _From Twilight to Dawn_. Thank you for reading!

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By **Kasmi Kassim**

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**_To Love and to Sin_**

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**_Chapter 1: Darkening Forest_**

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"They are moving deeper into the forest."

Thranduil lowered the map onto his knees, and rubbed his temple wearily. Standing around him in a semicircle, the court advisors watched with concern. The king had enough to worry about, without having to be bothered by intruders from foreign lands. They glanced at one another, silent acknowledgement passing through the meaningful gazes.

"We can dispatch an envoy," said one of the advisors, breaking the heavy silence. He brushed back a strand of brown hair and stepped forward, meeting the king's eyes. "We will ask them what business they have in our territory."

Thranduil held the advisor's gaze, his elbows on his lap, chin resting on his hands. His shadowed eyes flicked back down to the map. Brooding.

"Sire." The advisor's gentle call brought his dark gaze back up again. He was almost scowling. The advisor looked back, eyes sincere. It was almost a plea.

"Let us deal with them, my lord."

With a sigh, Thranduil raised his body and leaned back against the throne. He stared intently at the map.

"It may well be that they are not aware of our presence." His fingers slowly traced the borders of Mirkwood, the grand stretches of green upon the map. "I have no desire to claim sovereignty over the edges of the forest. The land is to be shared and respected, not possessed." He rubbed his temples again. "Besides, none of our people set foot in that region."

"But leaving them there may result in trouble," said another advisor, stepping forth. A dark-haired healer. "We have never had dealings with men in the past; we do not know what these men are after. They may try to invade into our realm."

Thranduil looked back down upon the map distastefully. His gaze then scanned the arc of advisors before him. They all wore the same concerned expression on their faces. He tilted his head. "Any more opinions?" he inquired wearily.

A sandy-haired advisor stepped forth. "I suggest we send a messenger to at least inform them of our presence, so that they may be aware. Perhaps that will make them change their minds about settling in Mirkwood, if their conscience is not clear."

The brown-haired advisor frowned. "But of course, there is no need to frighten them."

The sandy-haired advisor agreed. "No, not frighten them. Merely inform."

"Perhaps," mused an auburn-haired elf, "we can seek to establish a friendly relationship with them, even trade. It will help us watch them, for I have heard of exiled criminals who wander the lands and settle in the wilderness."

Thranduil lowered his head. A contemplative silence followed, which none of the elves dared to interrupt. At last, the king raised his head and rolled up the map with finality.

"We shall see," he said, handing the scroll to one of the advisors. "They seem relatively harmless, and may simply be seeking sanctuary from a source of danger. We will wait for their next move."

With those words, he rose. Dark green robes tapped against his calves as he scanned the silent advisors. He broke into a tired smile. "Go and rest. You are dismissed."

The advisors bowed their heads. None of them moved, however, until the weary king disappeared from their sight and entered the hallway leading to his chamber.

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The sun was setting by the time Thranduil arrived at his chamber. Seating himself wearily on the couch, he frowned and began to chew on his lip. This affair was giving him a headache. He almost lightly laughed at himself at the thought. _I sound like Elrond._ He felt sympathy rising in his chest for the first time regarding the dark-haired elvenlord's occasional headaches. Shaking his head a few times, he stared up at the ceiling.

It had not been too long since he had heard of this new concern. Humans were invading into Mirkwood. No, not invading. They were not armed – at least, not for a war – and they did not seem to be heading straight for the heart of the forest. But they did enter the forest, nonetheless, and have built a small settlement in the southwestern fringes of the woods. He thought to warn them about the evils that lurked in the south, but it seemed irrational that anyone could possibly _not_ know about Dol Guldur. Furthermore, his scouts were coming day by day with news of the human settlement spreading deeper into the forest. It was just as irrational to think that anyone could be unaware of the presence of the elven kingdom in the forest. Though many human societies these days seemed to forget the past and grow ignorant with the passing of generations, surely elves were not so rare that they failed to appear on maps? It just wasn't possible.

What, then, did the humans want from their forest? Thranduil locked his hands, slowly rubbing his fingers together, as his eyes took on a thoughtful expression. Were they really exiled criminals who needed a place to stay? If that was the case, Thranduil did not wish to deny them the chance to live new lives in the woods. He could watch them, but he would nonetheless leave them to themselves, as long as they brought no harm with them. But if they were simple civilians who wanted new land to cultivate, they were at the wrong place. The king shifted, sharp eyes darkening. Mirkwood was not open for strangers to uproot and upturn.

He rubbed his temple. Was it wise to send an envoy with friendly tidings? To establish a relationship of trust with the humans? Or would that frighten them? Would it seem as if Thranduil owned the forest? Or did they have ulterior motives for settling in the land?

He sighed. Foreign relations were so complicated.

Thranduil looked outside the large glass window, his gaze falling habitually onto a stone bench in the garden. His weary face broke into a distant smile. Leaning back in the couch, he lazily stretched his arms. _No need to strain any further_, he decided. He could worry about the humans later. His elfling would be returning home soon.

Rising from his seat, he idly wandered toward the window. Dusk was staining everything a deep shade of blue. He smiled absentmindedly once again, envisioning the twinkling blue eyes of his child as he rode vivaciously on his steed, running toward him. Legolas had been gone for a whole year now. How he missed the sparkling child. Thranduil sighed softly. He wondered how much older Legolas would have to be in order to stop making these trips. At first, Thranduil had sent his elfling away to Imladris so that he could enjoy the presence of other elflings in his childhood; and now, the elfling was still making regular trips to Imladris, for his friendship with the sons of the elvenlord had solidified into that of brotherhood. Not that Thranduil minded hosting the twins; no, quite on the contrary, he enjoyed hosting the mischievous – though noble and sincere – brothers. Especially because it meant his elfling did not have to leave. But Thranduil and Elrond had to reach a compromise; all had to be fair, both fathers had agreed, so their children took turns visiting each other. It certainly did make Legolas happy. But Thranduil still found himself missing his child as soon as he was out of sight.

He sighed. _It probably will not get better,_ he mused with a wistful smile. _When he grows older, he will want to travel all over the world._ Nothing could satisfy the elfling's curiosity and desire for adventure and exploration. And Thranduil knew that he could not harness the untamed soul in his young son; Prince Thranduil had been famous for the same wild streak in his blood. Some day, his little Greenleaf would go far away, and not return for a long time; and then, he would go far away again, and not return for a longer time...

Thranduil shook his head. Where were his thoughts leading him? Of course his little Greenleaf would return to him. He would always return to him in the end. He scowled, turning away from the window to light a candle. The dusk was making him melancholy.

He still had time. _Yes,_ he thought, pale blue eyes reflecting the quiet dance of the candle light, _he is still young._ Legolas was now a lively, growing elfling, but his hair still had some more lengths to grow before he reached the bloom of adolescence. Still some time before he would begin taking interest in other things...

Quickly shaking himself out of his reverie before he could sink deeper into the memories of female companions, Thranduil entered the bedroom and began to unfasten his robes. The days of extra stress and concern were taking a toll on him. After a good night of rest, these morose thoughts would leave him by morn. Yes, tomorrow morning he would be refreshed again...

As his eyes slipped into the transparent haze of sleep, Thranduil's heart beat heavily against his heart, whispering quiet murmurs of dread through the night.

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Legolas hummed, his hands lightly stroking the mane of his mount as the party progressed through the familiar path in the woods. They would be home soon. As sad as it was to leave Imladris and the company of the twins, he was looking forward to seeing the vivacious green of his own forest again. And his father's warm, welcoming arms. He smiled. It would be very nice indeed, to leap off of his horse and run into his arms, and be buried in that strong embrace again...

He looked up at the sky. The weather was fair, and the clouds were white; the sky was the palest of blue. It reminded him of his father's eyes. Those pale blue eyes, always intense and sharp with long thought and swift judgments. It was not rare to see his father's smile, but it nonetheless was a treat. And the elfling knew by now that his father laughed the happiest, smiled the brightest, when he was in his arms. And it was a special joy in its own right to make his father happy. Legolas smiled to himself. His fingers gently stroked the horse's mane, parting the rough hair and brushing it playfully, as the peaceful company rode on.

Suddenly, the elf in the lead halted. He held up his hand, eyes focused on the bushes to the right. All of the elves stopped in their tracks, eyes and ears keen, muscles taut with anticipation. Legolas slowly reached up and soundlessly drew his bow. Something had been invading their path. A sinister silence. He had been too lost in his thoughts to notice, and he immediately berated himself for letting down his guard. The path was familiar, trod a thousand times, but there was nonetheless danger lurking in these dark depths.

The unseen shadow continued to creep in closer, intensifying the unknown chill in his spine. The elfling swallowed, keen eyes darting from one side of the path to another. His horse shifted restlessly in response to the tense silence.

Then, Legolas screamed.

A darkness surged from the shadows. Like a wave, it catapulted upon them, sweeping them away in a rush. They horses panicked and bucked, and elves shouted instructions at each other as they attempted to evade the crashing blackness. Quickly, they broke into a gallop, speeding away from the unknown black bile that tumbled after them. The maddening waves seemed to emerge from all sides, however; they were surrounded, and as they galloped, they found themselves led in erratic circles in an effort to evade the attack of the unknown enemy. As the horses galloped, several elves let their arrows fly; the weapons were all swallowed up in the cavernous darkness almost welcomingly. And so the elves ran madly, shouting incoherent words to each other, urging their horses to go faster, to outrun the frightening tidal wave.

"Run, Prince! Run!"

The desperate shouts of the band of elves reached his ears, and the elfling urged his horse to go faster, faster. His breaths were shrill and tight as he clutched onto the reins, not daring to look back. The black tides were behind him. He could feel coldness emanating from the evil behind his back. Gritting his teeth, he looked back. His eyes widened with terror.

The monstrous rush of black bile was building upon him. It was closing in on him from all sides, as if it had a mind of its own and was chasing him with all its might. He could see none of his companions. His vision was blocked by the unknown monster, and the erratic paths that his frightened horse was taking. And the black tidal waves were rising, gathering height, as they prepared to launch their deathblow upon the elfling.

Gathering his breath, Legolas bent forward, and whispered to his horse.

"Run fast."

_Forgive me_, he begged silently, as his eyes shone with determination. He slowly raised his knees from the horse's sides, and released the reins. His eyes darted upward.

The black waves came crashing down.

The elfling leaped, desperation giving wing to his nimble flight. He barely reached a high branch of a tree overhead when his white horse disappeared under the rush of black. The branch swayed violently.

Clenching his teeth, the elfling struggled to swing his foot over the branch, and scrambled to the trunk of the tree. He watched in silent horror as the black torrent rushed past him, flooding the forest paths, sweeping everything out of sight. It buried young trees, bushes, flowers – even the tall, stately trunk in which he took shelter was buried more than halfway. Clinging onto the tree with all his might, Legolas trembled.

It seemed to last forever. Where did it come from? Legolas swallowed, and closed his eyes. Fervent whispers circled his lips as he squeezed his small fingers against the rough bark of the tree.

When he opened his eyes again, the black bile was slowly ebbing away. Drenched foliage reappeared, heavy and thick with oily black substance. The ground was slowly beginning to re-emerge.

Tentatively, the elfling climbed down. He put a cautious foot upon the black ground. It did not burn, though it was slippery. With a careful sigh of relief, he rested both of his feet onto the ground.

He looked up at the sky. The sky, or what little of it he could see through the thick mesh of branches, was tinted red and gold. So it was sunset already. With a sigh, the elfling looked around. Where was everyone?

Timidly, he raised his voice. He jolted when his voice echoed back, sinister and dark. He was in an unknown territory. And no one answered his call.

Swallowing nervously, the elfling pulled out his bow. Darkness would be coming soon. And he was alone, lost. Standing in the remnants of this mysterious destruction in his homeland.

_Fear not,_ he whispered to himself, training his eyes onto the paths before him. _You have been in a similar predicament before._

Resolutely, he began to step forward. He could not stay here. He needed to get away from this stained land. Back to the greenery.

Dusk was falling by the time he reached green grass again. He took a deep breath, and looked around. He was standing in the middle of a small clearing. Smell of fresh plants sweetened the cool air. There were bushes all around the clearing, blocking his view of what lay beyond it. He wondered which way he would need to go, but slowed his steps as he realized that it was getting darker by the minute.

What if he kept walking to no avail? Would he not need trees to sleep in? The woody plants were becoming sparser as he walked this way, and they continued to thin out. At this rate, he would end up in the outskirts of the forest. He frowned. Perhaps it _was_ wiser to exit the forest, and look for the familiar path again and enter from the beginning. That may be wiser than going in circles in this unknown land.

However, he could not continue to walk in the dark. He was but a lone elfling. He gripped his bow tight. Perhaps he should have stayed in the tree. He had been so desperate to get away from the foul mark upon the land that he did not stop to think about how to spend the night. And now he was lost.

Go back?

_No,_ he whispered to himself. He shuddered. He could not bear to see the darkness tainting the ground again. It was too painful, too frightening. And so the elfling stood, undecided, as the air cooled into a dark blue.

Suddenly, his eyes darted forward. Experienced fingers steadied an arrow against the bowstring. His eyes glittered as he aimed toward the rustle in the bushes. And then they widened.

"Well, well, well." A benevolent chuckle filled the air. Legolas lowered his bow, mouth agape.

From between the bushes emerged a tall figure, with twinkling eyes and a knowing smile. He held a beautifully sculpted staff, which he held against the dewy grass. Brilliant white engulfed him; the long robe, the hair, the beard...

"You are not wary of me," stated the mysterious old man. For some reason, the word _old_ did not suit this figure. His body was tall and erect, and there was a subtle aura of power in him that Legolas could not quite put a finger on. The young elf bowed respectfully.

"No, my lord."

A soft chuckle. The old man pulled on his long beard, and studied the elfling thoughtfully. "I am but a simple old man," he stated, waving his hand dismissively at last. "I happened to see you wandering. I gather that you are lost."

Legolas nodded.

"Well then," said the man slowly, turning to glance toward the southwest, "go that way. I believe I saw a settlement of humans toward the edge of the forest."

The elfling froze. "Humans?" he whispered, knuckles tightening around his bow. He had never seen humans before. And his father had always told him to be wary of all creatures that were not elves...

"They will not hurt you," said the old man, kindness in his voice. "They will provide you with shelter until your kinsmen come to search for you. Do not fear, child."

Drawing in a shaky breath, Legolas bowed. "Thank you, my lord."

The old man chuckled again. "I am but a mere traveler," he said, turning aside to head into the bushes past Legolas. "Ah, and one more thing." He stopped and looked back at the elfling. The child looked back, eyes alert and receptive.

The old man had an ageless smile in his lips. "No matter what, do not reveal your identity. Silence will protect you."

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_**To Be Continued**_

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**To the reviewers of _From Twilight to Dawn_ and _Beasts of Burden_**

**Verg**: Thank you, those words are more than enough ;)

**Unsung Heroine**: I hope this story rises to your expectations as well. Thank you so much for your detailed review, as it is incredibly helpful and gratifying! I am always grateful for your company.

**j-mercuryuk**: I am glad you liked the story! Hopefully you'll like this one too; thank you very much!

**Brazgirl**: Haha, yes, more of Thranduil in this story...it's nice to know which parts you liked out of the chapter. Thank you always for your company!

**Coolio02**: I am so happy to hear that you liked the ending despite the implications of it all. I am always grateful for your encouragements! Thank you!

**Lurker823**: What an honor to hear from a lurker. I see that you have read more than one story written by me, and I am immensely humbled by your detailed review. Thank you so much; I love it when my reviewers babble, so feel free to come out of your hiding and babble...hehe. I do hope to put in more Legolas/twins moments in my future tales as well. Thank you again!

**merrymagic**: It's wonderful to hear that you feel for my characters. It is a good compliment to the writer! Thank you so much!

**aknightofni**: Wow, what an honor to hear such words of high praise! Thank you so much for your compliments. It's sad to know that many fanfiction pieces out there are now not quite up to par, but it's always a joy to know that my writing helped bring you back to the fanfiction world. I hope you like my other stories as well – thank you so much!

**Deep Sorrow**: Haha, I was wondering who you were! Glad to see you again under a cool new name! Thank you so much, I hope you like this one too!


	2. In Motion

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Lord of the Rings.

**Rating**: PG-13 for implied adult themes. No graphic expression of disturbing content.

**Author's Note**: This can be read as a standalone piece as well as a prequel to _From Twilight to Dawn_.

Thank you to **Stormy rose** for reviewing _A Winter Evening in Imladris_! I'm glad you liked it!

Thank you to **nautika** for reviewing _To Live Another Day, I Will Not Let You Fall_, and _The Strength of One Green Leaf_. It's always a pleasant surprise and honor to hear about an older work. In regards to your question, yes, my stories all fall into the same story arc, whose timeline is listed in my bio. This story is the sequel to _The Strength of One Green Leaf_ and a prequel to _From Twilight to Dawn_, and I hope you enjoy it! Thank you so much!

Thank you to **mistopurr** for reviewing _The Strength of One Green Leaf_ and _Of Elflings and Adolescents_! What lovely long review – thank you! And it's an honor to have you review an older work of mine! Such high words of praise humble me to no end – such words are the highest compliments a writer could ever get. I am so happy to have captivated so much of your attention, and I thank you for your detailed review and compliments. Thank you so much for your words.

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By **Kasmi Kassim**

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**_To Love and to Sin_**

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**_Chapter 2: In Motion_**

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Bloody knuckles clutched the scarlet carpet, whitening with tension. The elf bowed his head. Silence filled the room, thick and quivering. Eyes were shifting from him to the king, and back to him again. No one dared to breathe.

"Rise."

The crack in the air was a relief, only to foreshadow a tighter tension. The elf bowed deeper, curling himself into a ball against the carpet. He let out a trembling breath.

"Forgive me, my lord."

Slowly, a sway of dark green invaded his line of view. The king had moved away from the throne, coming to stand before him. The elf swallowed.

"Rise."

The voice was low, the same steady tone as before. The elf trembled, sucking in his breath. What lay underneath the unfathomable low voice, he did not know. It was frightening, this calm. This self-control. And from the young king famous for his fiery temper.

"I dare not stand before you, my lord." He bowed still deeper, if it was at all possible. There was silence.

Wordless, the green robe left his view. The king was moving back toward the throne. He slowly raised his eyes, daring a glance at his king. The body was turned away, facing the wall. The king did not move.

"How long did you say it took you to cross this mysterious black swamp?" said the king, voice even.

The warrior swallowed. "Twelve days, my lord."

The king's shoulders stiffened. "Twelve days," he repeated, voice still low and blank. "Twelve days for what would be a two-day travel."

The warrior hung his head again.

Finally, the king's voice cleaved the air once more. "Go and rest. You have done well."

The elf rose shakily, and stepped back into the sides where the advisors stood. He did not exit the hall. He watched the back of the king, clutching his broken arm.

Thranduil bit his lip. Twelve days. For twelve days his elfling had been lost, his warriors wandering in the wilderness, and he had not known. He had assumed that they had been delayed by Imladris' sumptuous hosting. It was only a few days ago that the black bile had trickled into the territory guarded by his people, and by then it had been too late. The ground was too slippery to tread, and there was no telling that there would not be more of the foul substances coming their way. The power and height of the black tidal waves described by this warrior could wipe out any elf who attempted to move through trees. If they were to be trapped while attempting to cross the black bile, they would be doomed.

Thranduil pressed his temple. Here was one ragged warrior, bloodied and broken and starved, and the remaining four escorts were still out there amid the dangers of the new shadow, searching for his child. And the elfling was still nowhere to be found.

Gritting his teeth, he raised his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. He could not wait here. They could not allow themselves to be trapped in the havens, waiting for the bile to clear. Shoulders square, he turned around. Anticipation tightened the air as eyes were riveted upon him.

"Prepare for manual labor," he ordered, eyes gleaming with resolution as he scanned the rigid elves. "If the shadow refuses to yield to us, we will break our way through it."

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Roloth was awakened by the quiet creaking of the door. Blinking drowsily, he pulled himself up, glancing out the window. It was still dawn. Yawning, he plopped back down upon the bed.

"Are you awake?"

The soft voice crept into his senses, and he found himself slowly sitting up once more. Bright blue eyes stared into his. Gasping, he pulled back.

"Agh!"

The round eyes withdrew, confused. Roloth took a deep calming breath, before leaning forward to touch the child's cheek affectionately. "Don't scare me so, little one."

With a bright smile, the child turned and approached the small wooden table. "You get up so late." Golden threads of hair shimmered in the semidarkness as he pushed a stray strand behind a pointed ear. "I gathered breakfast."

The man quickly sat up, eyes wide. "Where did you find those?" he asked, amazement lining his rugged features as he neared the table.

"In the woods." The child carefully laid out the day's pick, and the man's eyes grew wider. Today, it was not just berries. There were early cherries, and apples, as well as some thin films of what looked like tree bark.

"Are these edible?" he asked, a bit doubtful. The child looked up innocently.

"Of course," he replied, smiling.

With a chuckle, Roloth grabbed the chair and sat down. The child remained standing, and together they started the modest meal.

"So tell me, elf-child," started Roloth, in between mouthfuls of food, "why do you rise so early?"

The child glanced up from his food before resuming again. "You told me not to go out during the daytime."

"That is true," said the man with an absentminded grunt. His eyes bore into the child's pointed ears. "Where do you come from?"

The elfling raised his eyes, and stared incredulously. "Mirkwood," he stated, and dropped his gaze again.

Roloth sighed. The child was young, but he was very evasive when he wanted to be. Who in this village was _not_ inside Mirkwood already?

Lapsing into silence, he chewed as his mind reeled. Why did the child refuse to talk about his home? Of his people? Was there a secret that could not be let out? He bit on an apple, pensive.

Perhaps there was something about this child that he was not to know. After all, he had materialized like an unearthly being. In the darkness of twilight, he had found this strange creature standing at the edge of the settlement, staring at the humble cabins and the sparse dots of people. Glittering eyes and shiny hair were what had first given away the child's presence; the bow and quiver of arrows, together with the ethereal fabric of the tunic, revealed the child to be a wanderer from another world. And the pointed ears only further punctuated the evidence.

But even after Roloth had taken him into his lonely dwelling, the elf-child refused to even tell him his name. All he had said was that he was lost, and needed a place to stay until his father came to get him.

_But how do you know that he will find you?_ He had asked, forgetting for a moment that this was a small child. But to his surprise, the elfling had not shown panic or fear. He had simply looked up at him with those unnervingly blue eyes, and replied that he would find him soon. How he was so sure, he did not say.

"Will you be going outside again?" asked the child, looking up from the meal. Roloth blinked.

"Ah, yes. I will. You will stay indoors, won't you?" He gauged the elfling's expression. Wistful eyes looked longingly outside the window. The sun was rising.

Roloth reached out and placed his large hand above that of the elfling. "You can open the window, if you promise to cover it fully with a blanket," he said soothingly. "I simply cannot let you wander among these people alone. Some people here are hostile."

With a sigh, the child nodded. Roloth gave the small hand a squeeze, and then rose. "I will be back before dusk."

As he locked the door from the outside, he could not suppress the smile that had been threatening to emerge. With a satisfactory click of the lock, he turned away from his small cabin, and ambled out into the rough street. His heart seemed ready to burst as he headed toward the small supply store in the village square – or what would be considered a village square in this poor settlement. He grinned wider as his fingers caressed a coin in his pocket. He could not wait for the day to begin. The elf-child was a blessing, in more ways than one.

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Legolas cautiously lifted the edge of the thin blanket and peered out the window. The sun was so bright today. He smiled, eyes closing with bliss. The sky was very blue. Noon was coming; Roloth would return soon. Then he would not be as bored. The elfling was itching to be out and about, but he would not ignore the man's stern warnings. After all, he was in a foreign settlement of people he did not know.

Large eyes peered carefully around, taking in the view of the town. This place, containing barely fifty people at most, did not look so much a town as it did a rough camp. The only difference between this settlement and a war camp was that dwellings were composed of shabby cabins instead of tents. Villagers walked about, all dressed in rough dark fabric, their faces taut and grim. He had seen few women so far; there were no children in sight. There were many more men than women, and he wondered why. And everyone always looked so unhappy. Voices were either hushed or sharp with bitterness. And many more conversations seemed to occur with glances. Dark, fleeting glances among one another. Strange, these humans.

And then there was Roloth.

Legolas let the blanket drop between his fingers, covering the window again. The sunlight left the room, and the cabin fell into a brown dimness. The elfling plopped down onto the bed, swinging his legs.

The man was confusing. He was kind to him, and he had let him stay in his house and away from the dangers of the town...but something about the man was dark. He wondered if it was because he was separated from his son. He did say that he had a son who was about Legolas' age. Legolas thought it wiser not to comment on the age, but when he asked why they were separated, the man did not answer his question. He had simply pressed his lips, looking far out into the window, with a grim expression on his face. He muttered now and then that his son would be coming to join him, as soon as he was old enough. As curious as Legolas was about these humans' reasons for being in Mirkwood, he did not ask. He did not want to put himself in a compromising situation, considering that he was already in one. And after all, that mysterious old man had told him not to reveal his identity. The less he revealed about himself, the better.

Gaze lost on the rough wooden wall, Legolas idly fingered the coarse sheets on the bed. How many sunrises had he seen since that incident? Were his escorts able to return to the castle? His heart constricted at the thought. He could still hear the frantic shouts in his ears. Telling him to run. To save himself.

Slowly, the elfling lay onto his side, and hugged the small pillow in his arms. Ada knew, didn't he? Ada must know by now...he must have figured out somehow. He had to be searching for him. He was just taking a long time, because the forest was so large, and Legolas was in an unexpected territory. That had to be it. And perhaps the remnants of that horrible black river were hindering their progress...

Wondering where the black substances had come from, the elfling fell into a light sleep.

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"Wake up."

The soft touch at his ear jolted him back to consciousness. Clutching the blanket tight, Legolas quickly backed into the wall, eyes glittering. Roloth held up his hands in surprise.

"Peace, little warrior. I mean no harm."

With a sigh of relief, the elfling relaxed. The small cabin was dark. The window was uncovered, for twilight rested in the horizon. He could make out the faintly lit silhouette of the man standing before him. He was holding something in his hands.

"I brought dinner today."

Excitement was evident in the voice of the human. Legolas smiled in spite of himself, and gingerly crawled out of bed as the man lit a candle. On the wooden table was a small loaf of bread.

Roloth pulled the chair close and sat down. "Eat," he said eagerly. Legolas shook his head.

"Not hungry."

"What?" The man looked surprised. "You're a growing boy! You must eat healthy if you want to keep growing!"

Legolas smiled faintly, but did not move toward the bread. Truth be told, he could not understand how humans could eat such strange-smelling substances. But he thought it politer to keep his thoughts to himself.

Roloth broke off a piece of the bread, and held it out. "You must eat, little one. If there is not enough food for two, it is the child who should get the chunk of the food."

Large blue eyes widened in the dark. "This is not enough?" He stared at the bread in the man's hands. "Then you should eat it all."

The man's jaw hung open. "What?" he whispered, hoarsely. "Are you insane, little one? You barely eat as is! You must eat!"

Legolas nodded with round eyes, a bit taken aback at the outburst. Despite his confusion, he reached out and took the bread. Did humans really need to eat so often? They didn't seem to do much to spend all that energy anyway.

Roloth looked satisfied as Legolas nibbled on his piece of bread. Picking up the rest of the loaf, he began to chew hungrily. "I suppose elves are different. Sorry, little one. I'll be sure to bring more fruit next time."

The elfling smiled.

Quickly finishing his meal, and declining to take more of the bread, Legolas stood and wandered toward the bed. While the man ate at the table, the elfling plopped down onto the thin mattress, and reached down toward the bedpost, where a small quiver of arrows leaned. Roloth watched between mouthfuls as the elfling took out a small knife from under his belt – the weapon had been completely invisible until this time – and began to run it smoothly along the shaft of an arrow.

Dumbfounded, Roloth fumbled with the bread in his hands. This elf-child was a continuous unveiling of mysteries. He quickly rose from his chair, shoving the rest of the loaf into his mouth, and groped around under the table until his hands found what they were looking for. Triumphantly, he pulled the items out and seated himself by the table once again.

Legolas looked up when he heard a faint scratching sound. The man was sitting with a large white board before him, his hands moving busily on the surface. The man's face was drawn up in tight lines of concentration. He flicked his gaze upward, and met the curious stare of the elfling. He grinned sheepishly.

"I, uh, bought some sketching supplies in town today." He pointed toward the table, where a few more pieces of charcoal rested. "You make a good subject."

Legolas tilted his head.

Roloth hastily searched for words, eyes flicking all over the room as his hands trembled slightly. "I mean, you're such a beautiful child...it is nice to draw you. Can I draw you?"

The elfling slowly nodded, wondering why the man's face was such a brilliant shade of red. He bowed his head again, returning his focus unto the arrow and the knife in his hands. Another arrow rested by his side, and a small hand reached down to pull another arrow out of the quiver. And the knife moved quietly.

A peaceful silence settled in the candlelit dwelling as the child and man worked, heads bowed, hearts content.

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_**To Be Continued**_

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**Anastasia Who**: Hohoho, I hope you enjoyed this chapter too. And was that man Gandalf? Hmm, look carefully at his descriptions and you'll see. Thank you for the review!

**bulldogodiva**: I'm glad you liked it! I hope you like this one too! Thank you!

**wolenczak2004**: Thank you! I hope you take care too. ;)

**Unsung Heroine**: Haha, how is your connection now? Is it working yet? I'm glad I could offer you a pleasant surprise. Thank you!

**Sesshyangel**: Good to hear from you again! And yes, these stories belong in one big arc. If you look at my bio, I have a timeline of all the stories; and if you look carefully at the descriptions of the old man, you'll see that this one isn't Gandalf. Hehe. Ooh, I feel evil. Thank you so much for the review!

**aknightofni**: Thank you! I am honored to hear those words. I hope you enjoyed this chapter too!

**Ithil-valon**: Wow, what a lovely and long review! Thank you so much. I'm so honored to hear that you enjoy my Thranduil so much. I'm glad to hear that my writing hasn't gone rusty – I have been afraid of that happening. And I knew you by a different name? Hmm, you've got me guessing here...hmmm. Hmm. Hmm. Oh, come on, you have to tell me. ;) Thank you very much again for the review!

**lurker**: Ooh, happy to see that you're de-lurking again! I am thrilled to see you too! Hehehe. And no, no, I am not telling you who that old man was because you can guess when you look at my descriptions of him. Hehehe. Thank you for the review!

**Brazgirl**: Oh, glad to see you again! I take it that you enjoyed my Thranduil chunks? Hoho. I hope I keep you interested throughout. Thank you for reviewing!

**Deep Sorrow**: I'm glad to see you back with a review too. Hehehe. And always a pleasure to know that you enjoy my writing of Thranduil! Thank you for the review!


	3. Deepening Night

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Lord of the Rings.

**Rating**: PG-13 for implied adult themes. No graphic expression of disturbing content.

**Author's Note**: This can be read as a standalone piece as well as a prequel to _From Twilight to Dawn_.

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By **Kasmi Kassim**

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**_To Love and to Sin_**

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**_Chapter 3: Deepening Night_**

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Thranduil straightened his back, heaving a deep breath. Greasy black bile dripped from his hands as he wiped his brow with his forearm. The foul substance coated his hands and wrists.

"The sun is setting."

The elves around him looked up, and wearily straightened their backs as well. Just like the king, their long hairs were pulled back and bound behind their shoulders. The elves were all covered up to their calves in the black grime, arms and legs bared with their sleeves and leggings rolled up carelessly.

The king turned, and waded his way out of the sticky black stream. He shook out the remaining muck from the heavy trellis in his hands, and tossed the apparatus onto the cleared ground. Once he was on the grass again, he turned, and scanned the progress. They had dug out a wide path by staking the oily black substance onto the side of the road; he wished he could clear this foul shadow away completely, but did not dare. They did not know what it was or where it came from; they could not dump it just anywhere without any knowledge of it. He would wait to clear out the rest. For now, all that they concentrated on was clearing a path for horses to travel swiftly without hindrance, so that they could run back even if attacked, whether on trees or horseback.

As he began to walk back to the castle, an elf approached him from the side. Thranduil noted with a mild sense of humor that this elf was still moderately clean. Trying to shake off the grime from his elbows, the elf bowed slightly before falling in pace with the king.

"It seems to be a part of the river, sire."

Thranduil raised his brows. "The river?"

The elf nodded. "Polluted beyond measure, poisoned by means of ignorance or hostility – or both."

The king stopped, and turned toward the scholar. His eyes glittered strangely. "Dol Guldur does not have access to our waterways."

"No, it does not." The dark-haired elf glanced over the king's shoulder, toward the south. "But somehow, the river did get polluted and poisoned."

Thranduil was silent as he turned to start walking again. Wordlessly, the scholar followed.

"Sire!"

A distant call elicited a swift turn away from the castle. Thranduil's eyes narrowed toward the forest, and then widened. He and the other elf broke into a run toward the muck again.

A dirtied horse trotted wearily down the path, obviously glad to see its home and a clear path once again. The muddied elves, who were getting ready to return to the castle for a rotation, were running toward the horse, shouting and waving. Atop the horse slumped a bloodied form of a warrior, his body barely hanging onto the mount. As the elves ran forward to meet them, the injured elf slipped off of the horse and fell onto the ground. One of the guards, who reached the horse first, quickly caught the body in his arms before it could hit the ground.

Thranduil reached the scene swiftly, bare feet flying on the oily forest floor. "Tillion," he breathed, bending down to gently place a hand on the elf's misshapen arm. The warrior opened his eyes wearily.

"My lord..."

Thranduil let out a relieved breath. "Do not speak. You will be well soon." Gently wiping the blood off of the warrior's brows, he glanced back, and saw two elves approaching with a horse laden with medical apparatus. The king and the warriors carefully lifted the injured elf and rested him on the bedding of the carrier.

"The prince...I could not..." the broken voice was hushed once again by the King's hands. Thranduil stroked the elf's matted hair, and quietly ordered the horse to return to the gates. Two elves mounted their own horses and trotted beside the injured elf, who lay limply on the carrier pulled on the forest floor.

Thranduil stood rooted in place, his grim countenance glowing with quiet, even breaths. That made two.

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The sun was setting. Legolas sighed, and buried his head onto his knees.

"Uh, sorry. Shall we take a break?"

He nodded, stretching out his legs on the bed. Roloth stood up from the chair and approached, an apologetic smile on his rugged face. "I had been so enraptured – I forgot that you were uncomfortable."

The elfling shook his head with a slight smile, and began to massage his neck. That man was sure strange. Ever since he came home with his art equipments a few days ago, he had been spending day and night with his canvas, flipping page after enormous white page, drawing away. And all of the drawings were of him.

Not that he minded much – the man seemed smitten with his work, and Legolas did not find cause to refuse his requests. So now, they spent almost all of their waking hours rooted still in place, one of them drawing, and one of them posing for the artist. If this was what made this man happy, Legolas was content to comply.

After all, this man was kind to him, and had given him shelter, and continued to protect him from prying eyes...

"Here, let me help you."

As the elfling squeezed his neck with a groan, the man gently rested his hands upon the shoulders of the child. Legolas leaned back and moaned as strong fingers delved into his skin.

"You are tense," said the man, frowning slightly. The elfling continued to moan and purr. "Are you worried?"

The child did not answer. Roloth wanted to press further, but decided against it.

"Don't worry," he assured him encouragingly, giving an extra strong squeeze, "your father will come soon."

His eyes caught an imperceptible nod from the child. They fell into silence again, as the man soothingly massaged the child's sore neck and shoulders. His hands worked their way down the shoulder blades, eliciting a flinch from the efling, and soothingly drew circles into the taut muscles until they were relaxed. Then his hands traveled up higher, into the neck area. "Bow your head," he instructed, and the child complied. Skilled fingers traveled over the slender neck, pushing gently against the smooth skin.

At last, Legolas pulled away. "Thank you," he said quietly, and smoothened out his unruly hair. Straightening his tunic, he gracefully returned to the position he was in before they took their break. "You may continue."

With a shaky smile, Roloth rose to his feet, and moved back to the table.

Legolas resumed his pondering. Why did that old man tell him not to reveal his identity? Would the men not wish to get a sumptuous reward by returning him safely to the castle if he revealed his status? It seemed illogical to hide the fact that he was a prince. Men, he had heard, showed enormous deference to royalty – and money.

After a moment of more scratching sounds, Roloth threw down his canvas. "Would you mind," he said, voice strangely thick, "if I concentrate on one part of your body in particular?"

The elfling frowned in confusion. Instead of answering, he got up in one fluid movement, and swiftly approached the man. Before Roloth could react, he whisked the canvas away from the table and flipped through the pages of drawings. His eyes widened. Roloth froze.

"You are very talented," he whispered, awed. Roloth let out a shaky breath.

Legolas hardly blinked, enraptured in the art. Page after page, there he was, alive and breathing on the parchment. A few pages contained full paintings of him, sitting and looking out the window or sleeping on his small makeshift bedding on the floor, but most of the pictures were rough sketches in coal. Sketches of the elfling hugging his knees with a watchful expression, the elfling bowing his head as he whittled his arrow, the concentration on his face as he fingered his bowstring.

He tilted his head, and cast a broad smile toward the man. The man sucked in his breath.

"What do you mean by what you said?" asked the elfling. He sounded, all of a sudden, very young and innocent.

Roloth let out a nervous breath. "Like...a part of your body that stands out. Like, your hands, or your feet, or your knees..." he faltered.

Legolas creased his eyebrows, perplexed. "Why?" He couldn't see anything unusual about hands and feet and knees.

The man let out a nervous laugh. He took the canvas back from the elfling's small hands. "Most people do not see it, but an artist sees beauty everywhere. The greatest beauty lies in the living body. The curves, the lines, the volume, texture..." he stopped, when he saw the elfling still held the same confused expression. "What I mean is," he explained hastily, "artists see things that escape another man's eyes. Bodies are very beautiful."

The elfling made a strange face. "Really?"

Roloth nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, yes. Do you mind?"

The child shook his head, to his great relief. "No, it does not bother me. Do what you will." He returned to the bed, and plopped down. "What do you want me to do this time?"

A slow grin spread across the man's face. He reached out across the table and lit a candle. As the golden light threw a dancing shadow across the room, he leaned back, coal ready in his hand, eyeing the elfling hungrily. The child tilted his head, his lovely frame glowing in the golden luminance.

"Turn around, and pull your hair out of the way, and..."

The night was deepening.

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_**To Be Continued**_

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**aknightofni**: Thank you! I hope you enjoyed this one too. ;)

**Deep Sorrow**: Hm, you are sharp, my dear. ;) We'll see. Thank you for the review!

**Anastasia Who**: Good to hear from you again! I'm happy to hear you find my little Legolas likable. He is my little darling. Mwahaha. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! ;) Thank you!

**lurker823**: Wow, is this a treat or what? I was so excited by your review! Thank you! I am honored you read all of my stories and like them all. And I am touched that you gave me that poem – it was beautiful! It added so much life to my plot bunnies, I was in a phantasmal daze for a while. Thank you so much! And don't worry, I love it when my reviewers go off in a tangent. ;)

**Unsung Heroine**: Haha, yes, diplomatic you are...keke. I wonder what you would now be thinking of Roloth...Hoho. I'm glad your connection works once again! Thank you for the review!

**Brazgirl**: Hoho, yes, Thranduil. I bet you'll be getting plenty of your dosage of him in this story. Ah, I really love that elf overmuch...and I am glad you share my love. Hohoho. Thank you for reviewing!

**Ithil-valon**: Seeing a familiarly long and beautiful review, I had doubts, but I didn't dare hope – but now that I know, I am so happy to see you again. I have been missing you terribly for the last few days, and just when I had given up and wrote in my diary that you were no longer anywhere to be found, I saw your review – and I was in tears. Welcome back to Kasmi's little page! Thank you for your review!

**Swasti**: You're right. So I wonder how things will go from here...? Hoho. Thank you for reviewing!


	4. Love of the King, Love of the Father

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Lord of the Rings.

**Rating**: PG-13 for implied adult themes. No graphic expression of disturbing content.

**Author's Note**: This can be read as a standalone piece as well as a prequel to _From Twilight to Dawn_.

Thank you to **Black as the Shadows** for reviewing _A Winter Evening in Imladris_. I'm delighted to hear that you like that story! As for Elrond's encounter with pipe weed...I did not plan on writing it, but perhaps another time...;) I hope you're not too disappointed. Thank you for reviewing!

Thank you also to **Starlit Hope** for reviewing _Beasts of Burden_ and _Unfinished Earth_! It's a joy to hear that you loved the stories that I loved writing! Both of those stories were emotionally exhausting for me, and thus very precious – and to know that someone shares the same emotions as me on those stories is so incredibly rewarding. Thank you so much!

Thank you also to **Dino** for reviewing _In the Dark of the Night_! Thank you for being open-minded about the kind of affection presented in the story. It's so gratifying to see that you liked it! There are more stories coming with more Legolas, the twins, Erestor and Glorfindel goodness! Thank you!

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By **Kasmi Kassim**

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**_To Love and to Sin_**

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**_Chapter 4: Love of the King, Love of the Father_**

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The healer was just withdrawing her hands from the patient when the king appeared in the doorway, a swirl of deep green. His hair remained tied back, loose strands hanging over his chest from the manual labor of earlier that day, and though his hands and feet were now clean, his body still wore nothing more than a deep green mantle thrown over the casual tunic from before.

The healer rose and stepped back as the king approached. The king's gait was never idle, never without the strong, purposeful focus in the strides – except when strolling in the gardens with his elfling. And after crossing the space between the bed and the door in his habitually determined gait, Thranduil seated himself next to the bed, and took one of the warrior's hands between his own.

The elf's face was marred with scars. Scars that would fade in time, of course, but they were deep nonetheless. No elf received such marks simply by running through thorn bushes or tumbling down a hill. Thranduil's grim eyes swept down to the body of the motionless elf. It was covered in bandages. The healer had only just finished the emergency ministrations.

Slowly, as the tingling warmth in his hand spread throughout his body, the warrior began to return to consciousness. His eyes came into focus, slowly but surely. And with a gasp, he breathed out a shuddering sigh.

"My lord..."

The king shook his head, and remained unmoving. His hands remained firmly pressed against the weak one of the other elf, releasing his own life energy into the wounded creature. The energy flowed between them without hindrance, directed surely and skillfully by the protector of the people, the king who had inherited the mystic magic of the land of yore. The wounded elf sighed in exhaustion, eyes moving to narrow toward the window. The sun was shining bright.

After letting out some more deep breaths, the warrior began to struggle to sit. Thranduil brought his arm around the elf's back and helped him lean against the headboard. The injured elf panted for a while, eyes watering, and closed his eyelids as his breathing began to calm. The healer's magic surrounded him all the while, sheathing the fragile injuries in continuous healing spells as the king's magic breathed strength into the weak body.

"We had all met again when we sent one of us to the castle," whispered the elf. "Forgive him, my lord... he was too deeply injured to join us for the search."

The king nodded.

"He has arrived safely," he replied. The voice was quiet. "He had reported what had happened, as bidden."

The guard slowly opened his eyes. He shuddered, as if recalling a nightmare. "We were together...then it came so suddenly...out of nowhere...and I was swept away...all of us were."

"Separated?"

"Yes." He let out a shaky breath. "It was like a black river..."

"The scholars say it seems to be a polluted branch of the river." The king's voice cleaved the air evenly.

The warrior looked up at his king. His eyes were wide, distant. "It did not feel like water," he whispered. "It was a shadow. A looming shadow...tried to ensnare us all..." he hung his head, shuddering once again.

Thranduil gently stroked the elf's hand. The stream of energy from the king began to wane; the healer's magic took over entirely, mending straining patches of injured skin.

"Was there magic?" asked the king, taking his hand away from the warrior elf. Enough strength seemed to have returned to him, and the king was beginning to tire.

A slight frown. Then a gasp burst from the chapped lips. "By Valar, yes...I felt magic."

The king silently bit his lip.

"Forgive me."

The whisper brought him out of his thoughts. With a grim smile, Thranduil held the warrior's hand fiercely and stood. "Rest and heal," he said, nodding at the healer as she nodded back. "We will need you soon."

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"Like this?"

"Yes, yes, like that. Does that make you cold, little one?"

Squirm.

"No...but none of our artists ever asked permission to draw me when I'm doing this..."

"Don't worry, little one...it's true art...you are beautiful...trust me..."

Scribble, scribble.

"You look like my son...he has such beautiful eyes...and such smooth, soft skin...he's a jewel..."

"..."

"He is going to come and join me soon...when he is a bit older...maybe you'll be able to stay with me until then...it does get terribly lonely around here."

Scribble, scribble. Scratch, scribble.

"I feel like you are my child...I want to protect you, hug you, kiss you, love you...can I do that, little one? Be your father?"

Scratch, scratch.

"You don't have to answer that question...just some wistful thinking of a lonely man...you have your own father looking for you..."

Scribble.

"He is taking awfully long to find you..."

Scratch.

"I want to be a father again...and look after a child...a child who will love me back...my heart aches whenever I think about that..."

Scribble, scribble, scribble.

"I will not mind, Roloth."

"What?"

Scribble.

"You can pretend I'm your child...I will not mind."

Scratch.

"You are such a sweet, dear little child...I love you so..."

Scribble, scribble, scratch.

"Er, Roloth...the water is getting cold."

"Ah, sorry, little one. Almost done..."

Scratch.

Scratch.

Scratch.

Legolas finally relaxed, and stepped out of the water. He snatched up a thin blanket nearby and quickly wrapped it around his small body, droplets of water gliding down his shivering body. Roloth put down his canvas and walked toward where the elfling had been, and hauled the large wooden tub to the door. Legolas dressed himself as the man opened the door and poured out the cooled water onto the porch. The sound of water crashing against the ground roared in his ears.

As the child was wringing out water from his hair, Roloth stepped back in, eyes glimmering in the candlelight. His sooty hands were washed clean. He smiled at Legolas as their eyes met.

"Lucky I was tonight, to find you so," he whispered, nearing the canvas leaning against the table. Legolas tilted his head.

"You should bathe more often," said the man, his voice a satisfied purr. "You are so beautiful, dear child."

Legolas blinked as he shook out his hair. "I don't need to bathe as often as you do."

The man chuckled. "Perhaps you could bathe just for me, then. You are very beautiful."

The child continued to dry his hair, glancing out the darkened window. When the last drop of water was squeezed out of his golden tresses, he sat back against the wall, legs outstretched on the bed. He stared at Roloth.

"Are all elflings beautiful?" he asked, curious.

Roloth chuckled as he flipped the large white parchment back over the canvas, revealing an empty page. "All children are beautiful, but I find that elf-children are especially more beautiful. Perhaps it is just that you are more striking than the rest." He reached for a piece of coal on the table.

"What is so beautiful about children?" asked Legolas, eyes a bit wider.

Roloth was positioning the canvas on his lap as he glanced up at the elfling. "I'll tell you if you pose another one for me," he smiled. Legolas pouted. Roloth made a sad face. "Please, dear one?"

Gingerly, the child raised himself off of the wall, shaking out his hair slightly as he did so. Hands pressed against the thin mattress, he tilted his head expectantly. Roloth chuckled and bowed in appreciation. He languidly lit a candle.

"My answer is this," he whispered, motioning with his hand. "Take off your clothes and wrap yourself lightly with that blanket."

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_**To Be Continued**_

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**Ithil-valon**: And the same to you, mellon nin, as to the delightful review! I always found Legolas so intriguing in that he seems so wise and yet so innocent. Your analogy with the jewel was so beautiful! And as always, you caught details with amazing precision. I hope you enjoyed this chapter too. Oh wait, did it only succeed in creeping you out further? ;)

**Unsung Heroine**: Haha, alarms are already going off in your head, and I manage to bring this chapter to even a creepier ending...I am excited to see how you'll react to this one...ehem, I am not really evil, I swear. Hehe. Thank you, as always, for the review!

**Brazgirl**: Yes, this story is PG-13 for implied adult themes. I believe whatever you're imagining is never too far off the mark...hehe. But don't worry my dear, curiosity is good. ;) Thank you for reviewing despite the disturbance you must feel!

**Swasti**: You're sharp, my dear! What exactly _does_ he want to sketch? Hmmm...hehe.

**Coolio02**: Thank you for reviewing all three chapters! It always is a gratifying experience to witness your effort to catch up on reviewing each and every chapter. How kind of you! Hm, do you still think the old man was Gandalf? ;) Hehe, and you might be right to be worried...you'll have to see! Thank you again!

**lurker823**: It's always flattering to hear that my story manages to catch you off guard. ;) And you're probably right in guessing what you are guessing – I did write out a long explanation for venturing into this territory among all other subjects, but decided that I have enough eyesores out there in my bio page. It was hard to decide to go ahead and push on with this, and I still am not sure that I have what it takes – both in writing skills and maturity – to explore this sort of topic, but I jumped into it and there is no turning back; I will only have to push ahead, praying that I have enough of what it takes. Thank you for accompanying me in this journey, and thank you for believing in me – your words give me more courage to go on the best I can. And regarding the poem/song, yes, it indeed awakened some more visions in me, and ultimately that might add to my fanfic lists ...hehe. Thank you so much for the encouragement and inspiration!

**Deep Sorrow**: Hahaha, you're so funny. I wonder what you are now thinking after reading this chapter. Haha. Thank you as always!

**ArcherGal2932**: Ooh hoo, happy am I to see such thoughtful reviews! Thank you! And yes, you are right – there was a character called Rolof in _From Twilight to Dawn_, the already-written sequel to this piece. And there are mentions of Thranduil's past with men, which are not revealed – and that is why this story here exists! You will discover the truth of the said pasts in this piece. Har har. It's so delightful to see you piecing the little evidences together to connect this story with its sequel! I am planning to put this up in SOA, but I am very busy/lazy and am quite behind in updating my other archives – you will find them all on my bio page – so this website is actually my most recently updated archive. And as for your questions regarding Roloth and the black bile...hehe, you will have to wait and see! Thank you again!


	5. The Second Coming

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Lord of the Rings.

**Rating**: PG-13 for implied adult themes. No graphic expression of disturbing content.

**Author's Note**: This can be read as a standalone piece as well as a prequel to _From Twilight to Dawn_.

Thank you to **Illeanah**, who reviewed every installment of the Greenleaf Chronicles to date! Wow! You are amazing. And yes, I am a non-native speaker, and I am as ignorant as can be regarding the books – I have done some research through other fanfiction and online sources, and that is where I glean what feeble knowledge I have. ;) This is probably not a good example for other fanfic writers, but I simply cannot find the time to read the books. ;( Anyway, thank you so much for your encouragement and effort to review every story!

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By **Kasmi Kassim**

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_**To Love and to Sin**_

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**_Chapter 5: The Second Coming_**

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It was night when the elves finally cleared a path connecting the havens with the untouched land near the western border. Thranduil wasted no time gathering up troops to ride with him; with specific instructions to his advisors in case of a possible attack in his absence, he set off into the darkness of the woods.

The ride was long. Through the darkness, the elves' keen eyes did not fail to observe the destruction of the forest. The black muck lay everywhere, leaving its traces long after its onslaught. Thranduil could not feel magic permeating from the shadow any longer, however; whatever the monster had been, what lay all around them was now nothing more than an abhorring evidence of greasy pollution, of what had once resembled river water.

At the head of the troops rode the king and the injured elf who had first arrived at the castle. As skilled as the elves were in tracking, there was little to guide them, as everything around them were covered in black as far as the eye could see. Therefore the elves moved slowly, following the lead of the injured elf, who rode with half-lidded eyes, calling upon the vague memory of his semi-conscious flight that day.

Finally, after an eternity of silence, he stopped. The company quickly divided in squads of three, and scattered.

Thranduil and two other warriors took the direction to which the injured elf pointed, an untraveled path that led toward the south. It was one of the only paths that the escort team failed to search before losing track of each other and collapsing with fatigue and despair, one by one trickling back into the castle.

The two elves halted when the young king tensed, halting his mount. There was a subtle scent of magic here. It was too insignificant to even be noted as sudden. How long had it gone unnoticed?

Turning back toward his companions, the king silently motioned for them to reassemble at the path. After a curt nod, the warriors galloped back toward the center of the path, whistling shrilly into the air. The king remained still as he heard responding calls, signaling that they were once again on standby. The king's eyes flickered toward the ground, estimating how much black muck was still on the road. Not much, but enough to make the horses cautious. His eyes moved slowly as he calculated the time it would take to rush back to the castle. The bushes surrounding him were wild, dark. He could barely see above them, even on horseback. He swiftly scanned the surrounding area, untouched and untamed, taking in the formation of the trees and ground levels.

And then, it came.

The magic erupted like a volcano, surging from all sides in a frightening rush of black. His horse bucked in panic, screaming. Gripping the reins, Thranduil made a sharp turn, and began to run.

The black waves rushed at him with an avenging roar, crashing against the ground behind him. Raising a hand to his mouth, he gave a shrill whistle, a pitch high enough to be heard above the roar of the wave, ordering the rest of his troops to head back to the castle. When horse hooves began to beat against the earth in the distance, he gritted his teeth, and took another sharp turn. He was heading away from the sanctuary.

His eyes narrowed as they observed the grime-covered trees whip by, the darkness threatening to swallow him from behind. It was near. Thranduil's eyes darted around, recalling the landscape he had memorized earlier.

A large tree loomed in a distance. His horse turned left.

_He had detoured here._

The darkness lapped against his horse, and the animal neighed in fright. Its breathing became ragged, pounding against his body, and it swerved sharply to the right. The great black stallion and the fair-haired elf, merged as one, leaped over a crevice on the plateau, landing on the other side of a narrow stream.

_He had crossed this river._

A low branch of the great tree neared, shadowing their path. And the waves were gaining on them, faster and faster –

_Refuge._

The king suddenly swerved, breaking off to the left. He rose on top of his horse, instructing the animal to keep running to the left. And then, he leaped onto the branch.

The black torrents roared around him, angrily licking the tree as he swiftly climbed higher. The path was once again flooded with vengeful tides of black.

The young king watched, silent, as the black river swam around him, gradually receding. Daylight was fading, and oily bile clung to leaves heavily on their path. He sighed.

The path that way had no more trees. Surely his Greenleaf would not have chosen that path – would he?

But then, there was green grass in that direction as well. No more of the black bile if one continued southbound. Closer to Dol Guldur.

Narrowed eyes still on the blackened path, he slid out a black bow from behind his back. This territory was an uncharted land. He could not take chances.

'

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"There they come!"

The elves scurried out of from the castle, running out to meet the galloping figures in the dark. And then, someone screamed.

Behind the desperately running figures wavered a looming shadow. The black menace. It was closing in on them, tauntingly, as the elves urged their horses to go faster, not daring to look back.

"Open the gates!"

The laboring elves outside the gates threw down their equipment and hurried toward the castle, and the great gates swung open. Radiant blue light shone upon those who scampered into the courtyard. And the returning elves were coming, so close – so close.

"The king is not here!"

The horrified exclamation hit the population like a deathblow. They stood, frozen, as the warriors came nearer. They could not close their gates without the king safely in the havens. But the shadow was coming. It was coming to destroy them all.

With a cry, the galloping hooves pounded through the threshold, as elves spilled into the courtyard. Teeth clenched, the healers stood by the warriors, eyes glowing in concentration, as they murmured chants under their breaths. And the gates began to close.

Cries of dismay resounded against the sky as the gates creaked shut, a breath before the black shadow crashed against them with a deafening roar. The ground shook. Elves screamed, fell onto the ground and covered one another, covered their ears, shut their eyes – as the land moaned, and twisted beneath their feet.

'

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'

Thranduil stood at the same clearing in which his child stood, not many days before. His arrow drawn, his eyes darted around. Where did he go from here?

Then, he sucked in his breath. From between the dark foliage he could see a figure, a motionless figure shimmering white. The old man was smiling at him, an unfathomable expression in his ancient eyes.

The king quickly lowered his weapon. He bowed deeply.

The old man held a light smile on his lips as he approached. His staff tapped soundlessly against the dewy grass.

"You let down your weapon and bow to me," he said, amused, "while you do not know who I am."

The elf looked up, eyes sincere. "You are an Istar."

The old man did not seem fazed at this comment. He tilted his head, seeming more amused than before. "Your decisions are swift, my friend."

"Yet I am not mistaken." The king's voice was sure as he bowed once again. "Forgive me. I had taken you for an enemy."

With a soft laugh, the old man waved his hand dismissively. "I have been threatened with an arrow not many days before," he mused, scanning the elf before him. "And the bearer of the arrow was a brave child, with surprising semblance to you."

Knuckles paled as they clutched the black bow. "Know you which direction he took?" the voice was low, fevered.

An indiscernible smile played upon the old man's lips as he pointed toward the southwest. "That way."

'

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_**To Be Continued**_

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**Coolio02**: Creepy, eh? Hohoho. Beware of creepiness. My story contains much creepiness. ;)

**MCross**: Oh, you're a nurse? Wow, I feel extra - honored now. Hehehe. Well, Thranduil is on his way! Thank you for the review!

**Brazgirl**: What can I say my dear, you're the better judge. I can't really admire my own work because I write it, so it makes me happy to hear that you have an easy time imagining my Thranduil as I describe him. Thanks!

**Unsung Heroine**: Haha, you may or may not be overreacting – that depends on how you take the story, so whatever you feel is right. I am getting the idea that perhaps you are finding this man a bit disturbing? Hohoho. Good to hear that my descriptions of Thranduil contrast that image! And you surprise me – not many people pay attention to a side character. Cheers!

**Deep Sorrow**: Hahaha, promotion, huh? Despite the way my reviewers feel about this man, I get the feeling that maybe you are all secretly enjoying this...kekeke. Ok, ok, maybe not. I may be sadistic. Anyway, good to hear that you like my Thranduil! Thanks!

**Illeanah**: Thank you! And you are a brilliant reviewer! ;)

**ArcherGal2932**: Hmm, this man seems to be gathering the consensus of CREEPY. Well, here is an update, and I wish you the best of luck. Hohoho. Thank you for the review!

**lurker823**: How insightful of you to point out the integration of love and loneliness and its projection unto Legolas. I know that many authors tackle subjects similar to this, but it is nonetheless a trial to explore the human psyche behind it – and I'm glad to hear that I am managing to show at least glimpses of such things. Believe me, I am fumbling in the dark while exploring this territory as well – and what a dark and vast tunnel this is. I only hope I manage to find and shed some light upon this dark topic, not ending as only an entertainment or a stimulant. Thank you for your review!

**silwen**: Glad to hear from you! Thank you for the review!

**Ithil-valon**: Hmm, yes, it is quite disturbing, isn't it? I am disturbed as I write this. Well, Thranduil is getting nearer...and nearer...;) Thank you for reviewing!


	6. Dangerously Close

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Lord of the Rings.

**Rating**: PG-13 for implied adult themes. No graphic expression of disturbing content.

**Author's Note**: This can be read as a standalone piece as well as a prequel to _From Twilight to Dawn_.

Thank you to **SilverWolf7** for reviewing _Tears of Yesterday_! Thank you so much for reviewing – I am glad to hear you liked the story! I hope you enjoy other stories of mine as well! ;)

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By **Kasmi Kassim**

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**_To Love and to Sin_**

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**_Chapter 6: Dangerously Close_**

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Legolas awoke at dawn, as was his habit ever since arriving at this strange town. Pale blue light was simmering through the window. Yawning, he sat up, and shook his head. Unkempt strands of hair fell around his shoulders. He absentmindedly ran his fingers through the tresses when a voice jolted him.

"Why don't you ever unbraid your hair?"

His body whirled to the side, where the man sat on his bed, canvas in his arms. His hand was blackened with coal. The elfling stared, incredulous.

"Did you spend the whole night drawing me?"

The man nodded, a faint smile emerging from the dark. "You look beautiful when you sleep."

The elfling scratched his head, and rose from his bedding on the floor. "I'll be back with breakfast," he said, turning away.

"Child." The voice halted his steps. Legolas glanced back. The man was watching him with an unfathomable expression on his face. "Why do you never loosen your hair?"

Silence filled the slowly brightening room. The elfling turned away, and wordlessly exited the cabin. The man was left speechless, alone in the pale blue of dawn.

Outside, Legolas took a deep inhalation, closing his eyes. His heart suddenly constricted painfully. He wanted to go home.

A moment later, he opened his eyes again, taking deliberate steps toward the woods. It was later than usual time. He would have to hurry before the rest of the villagers woke up.

'

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The young man was walking toward Roloth's house in furious footsteps. The glint of gold and blue he had seen through the window were not fantasies – knowing Roloth, definitely not. He had seen that speck of beauty this morning. And what a beautiful child it was. Like the rest of the villagers, the young man was a criminal cast away from his homeland, and he knew that beauty accompanied danger. And what a deadly beauty that child was.

He could not keep in silence any longer. If Roloth still did not come out of his house, well, he would go to Roloth and drag him out, regardless of whether the child watched or not.

The small cabin was not far, though it was a bit apart from the other houses; all the houses were apart anyhow, as the villagers did not trust each other. There were men of all kinds here – thieves, burglars, bandits, murderers, and – well – people like Roloth.

He was just about to enter the cabin when he felt eyes on him. Leading a life of a hideaway had developed keen senses in the man, and he froze. The eyes that watched him were coming from the bushes to the side of the settlement. He turned, careful not to be hasty. And he gasped.

The child had grown overnight.

Gaping, he curled and uncurled his fingers, wondering if he should run away and warn the village of some kind of magical monster. But he was too late; the tall figure moved before he did. It was not a big move; if anything, the elf moved very slightly, cautious and distrusting. Bright blue eyes burned into his, holding the wary beauty of a ferocious wild animal.

The young man stood perfectly still, trying to assess his course of action. And once again, the elf beat him to it. The creature spoke quietly, the melodic voice dissolving into the thin morning air.

"I come to seek a child."

'

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'

After the silent breakfast, Roloth sat with his canvas again, and Legolas took his usual seat on the bed. This had become their customary routine by now; the man no longer left his house for anything. He spent the whole day drawing. Though he usually worked in silence, Legolas was more pleased with this course of events than before, for it meant he had company for the whole day. He usually asked questions while the man worked, questions about the human world. And the man would smile as he answered, chuckling at the elfling's indomitable curiosity. And he would carefully avoid answering about the settlement, or the villagers, or why he was separated from his son. And he no longer asked about the elfling's family.

"Can I do it?"

The sudden question shook the child out of his reverie. He blinked, tilting his head slightly as to not skew his pose. "What?"

The man looked up from his work. "Loosen your hair."

The elfling stared. Roloth smiled. "Your hair is so beautiful. I would like to see it...undone."

A small hand reached up to tentatively finger the three intricate plaits that hung among the tresses of gold. The elfling looked up again at the man, and then shook his head.

"Why not?" pressed the man. His hands were moving faster.

Legolas tensed. "No one touches my hair." _Except for Ada._

His bright eyes gleamed in the shadowed room. The sun was shining outside, only to be blocked by the blanket hanging at the window.

Roloth put down his coal, and blew gently over the parchment. "All done." He looked up, and Legolas thought he saw a tense expression on that face. A war of emotions. But before he could be sure, the man was smiling again. "So secretive...and yet you are not even an adolescent. Still a child..."

The child relaxed his pose, but his eyes remained alert. "I am older than I look."

Roloth stood, and lowered his hands into a small basin resting on the table. "Ah, but your innocence belies your age," he chuckled, as soft lapping of water filled the tense silence. "So how old are you, really? Eleven? Twelve?"

The question was met with silence.

Laughing softly, Roloth shook his head. "Forgive me, child. I had been carried away by memories. I have drawn many children, and they are so different, and yet the same."

Tension forgotten, the elfling leaned forward. His eyes were wide again, curious. "You have drawn many children?"

"Yes." The man wiped his now-clean hands on a thin cloth, and turned toward the elfling. "Children are my main subjects."

"Why?"

"Well..." The man slowly approached the bed. "Children like you...they are blooming with such beauty of youth...innocence...their skin so soft, smooth...their limbs are supple, their voices-" suddenly he broke off, and quickly shook his head. He was standing directly before the child, who was bending his head back to maintain eye contact. The smooth column of the child's white throat wavered gently. Roloth quickly stepped back.

"Voices?" Legolas frowned in confusion. "You can draw voices?"

Chuckling, Roloth hastily shook his head. "No, of course not. It is simply a part of their beauty."

"Oh."

The man was about to open his mouth again when a knock on his door interrupted.

"Roloth!" It was a harsh voice of a man. The knock was demanding, urgent. "Roloth, open the door!"

Muttering under his breath, Roloth quickly turned to the door. Legolas grabbed his tunic and began to put it on, hastily crawling underneath the bed. Roloth draped the blanket over the side of the bed, concealing the child from view. "Stay quiet," he hissed, quickly approaching the door. "These men may hurt you."

Legolas swallowed nervously, as the man opened the door to greet another man. The visitor was burlier than Roloth, and younger. He looked about the room, and when his eyes rested on the canvas, Roloth dived for it. But even as Roloth was hastily gathering the drawings in his arms, the man stood, a frozen expression of dread and anger on his face. He grabbed Roloth by the collar and dragged him out the door, slamming the door shut.

In the cover of darkness, Legolas breathed uneasily. Men were such strange people.

'

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"Don't be so rough, Dama!" Roloth batted the man's hand away, and glared at the younger man as he straightened out his modest apparel. "What do you want?"

The younger man loomed over him menacingly. His voice was low, dangerous. "I see that you have taken up your old hobby again, Roloth."

Roloth snorted. "Yes, I like drawing."

It was Dama's turn to snort. "Indeed. I never knew that you enjoyed drawing yourself so much." He inched closer to the older man, eyes glittering. His breath was hot upon Roloth's face. "So which is it this time, Roloth? A raven-haired girl who is yet hairless? A supple-limbed boy whose voice is still sweet? Oh pardon me, I have forgotten that there are no children in this settlement, heavens be praised."

Roloth's hand shot out, aiming at the younger man's mouth. But in an instant, the hand froze midair, as Dama's own hand caught it in a death grip.

"I wonder where the new child appeared from?" he hissed, wrath emanating from his taut body. "From the woods, perhaps?"

"I have no reason to hear this from a green one like you," retorted Roloth, eyes flashing with rage. "You forget that _you_ are not as sinless as you like to believe."

Dama suddenly jerked Roloth forward, a breath away from his own face. "Take some time to recall that herbal drink you purchased yesterday from the supply store," he hissed, "and _then_ lecture me about sins."

Roloth froze.

With satisfaction and disgust warring in his face, Dama threw down Roloth's arm. "I have seen him, Roloth. I saw him gathering fruit for you this morning." A contemptuous smile spread against his rugged features. "A beautiful child, is he not?"

The older man was frozen still, his tongue locked in muted silence. Dama leaned in closer.

"Beautiful things come with a price," he whispered, threateningly. "I would not play with an elf-child if I were you."

"I do not play," retorted Roloth, backing away angrily. "I was hiding him from the villagers. You know how dangerous these men are."

A harsh laughter rang in the air. Dama sneered at the trembling hands before him. "Somehow I do not think _you_ are suited for protecting children, Roloth."

"Think what you will," snapped Roloth, turning away. He grabbed the doorknob when Dama's quiet voice cut the silence.

"An elf came looking for him this morning."

Roloth paled.

Dama crossed his arms, watching. "'A golden-haired, blue-eyed elf-child. Still a mere child, looking no older than ten, eleven, twelve years in your people's children.' Yes, Roloth, he came in the name of Mirkwood. The king is offering gold to anyone who finds him."

At this, Roloth turned, eyes flashing violently. "The reward is mine!" he hissed. "I took care of him; I was good to him!"

Dama cocked his head. "Dear Roloth, you misunderstand my intentions. I care not for the reward." His gaze flicked toward the closed door of Roloth's cabin. "I care about my blood staying inside me."

Roloth held his breath as he searched into the other man's eyes. "What did you tell him?" the voice was fearful. "Did you say you didn't know?"

Gradually, a shadow of dark rage overcame Dama's features. He stood still, glaring with black venom in his eyes, fists clenched. "If I had, then he would have demanded a village assembly so that he could question all of us. And then the elf-child would have noticed the ruckus – imagine what would happen if the elf saw you with him!" he ended in a hiss.

Roloth heaved a sigh of relief. "He does not know anything," he replied, confidence somewhat restored.

The younger man snorted. "Yes, of course. I am certain that you bought the sedative for yourself, and that the child has been unaware of your _artistic_ hobby."

Roloth was silent.

With a great sigh, Dama scratched his head, evidently frustrated. "I said I saw a small figure wander to the west, and he went that way. If he returns, we will have to say that we didn't know you were hosting him. You will not be shielded by any of us again." He glowered at the stiff figure of the man before him. "I would be careful," he warned, stepping away. "He will return soon. And he will not be fooled a second time."

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_**To Be Continued**_

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**Illeanah**: Oh no, your reviews are wonderful! ;) Thank you again for reviewing! Hehe.

**ArcherGal2932**: Hmm, I never said that old man was Gandalf, did I? ;) Hohoho. I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thank you!

**Brazgirl**: Haha, yes, Thranduil-packed chapter, wasn't it? ;) And yes, hang in there, the mysteries will be solved in due time...;)

**Ithil-valon**: Your visualization of the slime is just perfect. ;) More shall be revealed – thank you for your compliments. And I see you also gave attention to the injured elf – the injured elf thanks you! ;)

**Unsung Heroine**: It is a good thing, I tell you, to be keen about side characters. Hehe. How are your exams going? Are they still going on?

**Deep Sorrow**: Ooh, I'm glad to hear that. This is the first time I ever put Thranduil on a black horse. Hehehe. Thank you!

**Coolio02**: Haha, will Thranduil get there? Will he? More creepiness abound! Hahaha! Thanks a lot!

**lurker823**: You are as keen as ever! It's great to hear you point out the connection you see and the suspicions you have. Hahaha. Well, we will have to see. Thank you for reviewing again!

**Tinnuial**: Hi there! Glad to hear from you! Thank you so much for reviewing – and it was a revelation to me to hear about what you saw as my interpretation. Thank you!


	7. Coming to an End

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Lord of the Rings.

**Rating**: PG-13 for implied adult themes. No graphic expression of disturbing content.

**Author's Note**: This can be read as a standalone piece as well as a prequel to _From Twilight to Dawn_.

Thank you to **sgdsahre** for reviewing _Tears of Yesterday_. I'm so glad you liked it! ;)

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By **Kasmi Kassim**

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**_To Love and to Sin_**

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**_Chapter 7: Coming to an End_**

The door closed quietly. A hush fell upon the crowd, and they looked at the newcomer anxiously. Their faces were dark, with only patches of ghostly white skin revealed in the thin film of sunlight shafting in through the holes in the cabin.

"Well?" asked one of the men. "Does he have the elf-child?"

Mutely, Dama nodded. He approached the circle of villagers, and rested his hands on the large table in the middle of the room.

A tense silence settled in. The townspeople looked at one another, eyes darting around nervously. With a growl, a dark-haired man raised his body from the wall and looked around.

"We will die if he returns with an army of elves. We must organize an army of our own!"

An old man in the corner snorted. "You think you can go against the army of Mirkwood elves, boy?" He raised his eyes, and laughed bitterly. "These elves are the mightiest warriors in the land. The whole fifty of you put together will barely leave a scratch on one of them. And I daresay there is more than one elf in this forest."

A sandy-haired woman suddenly gave a piercing scream, and slumped onto the ground. "We're doomed!" she moaned, burying her hands in her disheveled hair. "Why did we come to Mirkwood? Why did we intrude into the realm of the elves!"

A slim youth near the door, who had been chewing his nails all this time, looked up. "We must stay calm," he said with anxiety etched on his face, looking around. "Perhaps we can invite them to a feast, and poison all of them."

A general murmur ran through the crowd. When all eyes turned toward the herbalist, he nodded grimly and took out a pouch full of dried roots. "I have enough to poison at least sixty at the spot," he announced. The crowd of people murmured their consent, steeling themselves for the feat. But another man spoke up.

"Think you that elves are fools? They have lived far longer than us, and they know more herbs and poisons than we will ever know! If they find out, we are doomed!"

"We do not have a choice!" shot back another voice. "We kill them, or we all die!"

The heated blow of words halted upon the soft chuckle in the corner. All eyes turned toward the old man again. The old man pulled up his knees close to his chest, and smiled.

"We all come here to pay for our sins and start new lives, and you all readily put your heads together to plan mass murder of innocent people. Fine lives we lead, eh?"

The words bit into the silence. The people fell into a hush, glancing at one another uneasily. The old man wearily pulled his thin body off of the floor, and pulled his tattered garb about his shoulders.

"Do what you will," he muttered, moving toward the door, "but I am not so young and blind as to drag myself into another pit."

The door slammed behind the old man. No one spoke.

A middle-aged man by the window opened his mouth, hesitant. "Perhaps we can hold him hostage, and bargain with the elves. Then we will ensure safety and wealth, and we will move away to another land to settle in."

Another murmur of consent ran through the crowd. But then, an auburn-haired woman shook her head. "We do not stand a chance if we threaten the danger of the elf-child. Did the elf not say that he comes by the name of the king? What if the elf-king is related to the child?"

A gasp of shock ran through the crowd. "Royalty," mumbled the men and women, wondering at the possibility.

"If the child is indeed of a high-ranking family, we should give him back to the elves as soon as possible," muttered a man. "I do not want the wrath of an elf-king on my head."

"But how do we know if he is indeed royalty?" asked another woman. "Do you think he will tell us so? If he intended to reveal himself, he would have come to us for help long ago."

Another heavy bout of silence followed.

A young man threw his hands up into the air. "This is all Roloth's fault!" he shouted angrily. "We should take the child away from him and tell the elf that Roloth is to blame! Then the king will reward us and punish Roloth alone!"

Dama frowned. "Knowing that man, he will accuse every single one of us to go down with him."

A sigh of despair spread in the cabin. All bowed their heads, evidently at a loss.

Wearily, Dama looked up and scanned the crowd of people around him. His voice was dark, brooding. "Whatever may come, let it come. We have no need to fear, as long as our conscience is clear."

'

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Legolas glanced up tentatively, careful not to move his body. His long blond hair was gathered and hanging over one shoulder, while his neck gently hung forward, long lashes lowered. His supple arms were resting gently on the bed, snaking out of the large shell of blankets that swathed his limber body. Roloth was busily sketching away his profile, as a lone candle flickered in the dark.

Scratch, scribble.

"Keep your head down," instructed the man. Legolas quickly returned to his previous position, eyes lingering once again on the wall. The curtain of hair lapped gently against his bare knees.

Scribble. Scratch, scratch, scratch.

"Can you move that blanket further down?"

The elfling glanced again toward the man, and blinked. "Why?"

The man's eyes were glowing fervently. It was a strange look, those eyes. The candle was shining bright.

"I want to capture the whole of your beauty," breathed the man, hands trembling slightly. "I want to memorize every lovely contour of your body." His dark eyes gleamed with the light of the candle.

The child still seemed confused, but pushed the blankets down lower. The stiff cloth moved from his bare shoulders down to his slender stomach.

When Legolas looked back at the man, the dark eyes were riveted on his stomach. He could see the man swallow hard several times, eyes fixed in a daze. The elfling frowned. Were all men this strange? Of course, Legolas knew of beauty – he sang with his people about it all the time. The flowing rivers, the shade of the trees, the soft warm earth – all of these were beauties of Arda, which he knew much about. But he had never seen an elf artist so obsessed with beauty of children without clothes on.

Perhaps humans saw beauty elsewhere. He would perhaps never understand. With resignation, Legolas shook his head to straighten out his hair, and hung his slender neck gently out again, allowing the soft hair to fall over his right shoulder. He could feel the man's eyes roaming over his bared neck from the left, and moving down about his round shoulders. He did not move.

"I'm ready," he called, a slight frown showing puzzlement again. Valar, this man was strange.

He wondered if he should have perhaps listened to the conversation earlier that day. The voices were loud enough to be heard beyond the door, if equipped with his hearing – but he had deemed it impolite. Furthermore, the fear of the unknown – which the man kept telling him of – kept him swathed in blankets and hiding in the dark, wondering and fearing. 

Sharp eyes focused in Roloth. This man was kind to him. But a part of him wondered whom he should trust. His father had told him not to trust anyone besides elves. No one.

But he was a capable warrior. He could defend himself if this man tried to harm him. Not that he had, of course. The man's eyes were glazed, watching with a strange expression.

Legolas tightened his fingers under the blanket. He would venture out tomorrow night. Deep into midnight, he would look around the place and try to see if he could find a landmark somewhere. Ada was taking too long to find him. And the warrior instinct in Legolas told him that it was time to take action on his own.

As if awakened from a dream, the man bowed his head, hands busily moving over the canvas once more. Silence followed, only filled by faint scratching sounds of coal against parchment.

Scribble, scribble.

"Your people will come to take you away soon."

The voice broke Legolas' train of thoughts, and he blinked in surprise. He glanced at the man, but his head was still bowed, hands busy. Oblique shadows danced around the room, mingling with a lonely gold.

"It has been so wonderful...having you...it was like a dream..."

Scratch. Scratch.

"And that dream is coming to an end..."

Scribble.

"I pretended that you were my adopted child...that one day you would open to me, and finally call me Papa..."

Scratch. Scratch. Scribble.

"Ah, so even a child as kind as you cannot bring yourself to call me that...'tis all right, no need to feel sorry for an old man..."

Scribble, scribble.

"But before the dream could go any further, it shatters before my eyes...and you are still as beautiful as ever, so beautiful that it makes my limbs ache..."

Scribble, scribble, scribble.

"And you will go away and forget about me...and I will long for you for the rest of my life..."

Scribble. Scratch.

"And I don't even know your name..."

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

Scratch.

Scratch.

"Legolas."

Squeak-.

"What...?"

Squeak...

"My name...it is Legolas."

Squeak...

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_**To Be Continued**_

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**Unsung Heroine**: Congratulations on your exams! It feels a bit strange to be free after all the stress, huh? ;) Anyway, thank you for the compliments – I am relieved to hear that you find the story believable. I am acutely aware of the fact that topics such as this are often mentioned as angst device, and am constantly cautious to not overdo it just to torture characters...but anyway. Thranduil is on the way! Or was, anyway. Hehehe.

**Illeanah**: Thank you! I am guessing that some others share your sentiments on Roloth...har har. I hoped you enjoyed this chapter too!

**MCross**: Aha, you knew from the beginning! Hehehe. Keep your fingers crossed! Thank you!

**Deep Sorrow**: Hmm, you can keep holding onto that hope. Or not. Oh I love being evil. ;) Thank you for the review!

**ArcherGal2932**: Why, thank you! I'm glad you like my writing! And your review is so entertaining – it's good to see that you enjoy my story. Thank you!

**lurker823**: Yes, the plot thickens...dum dum dum! Hohoho. I'm glad you mentioned the questions you had, because they are coming right around the corner in the story! I will have more answers, I promise!

**Ithil-valon**: Yes, sadly I have. It was really a hard decision to make, seeing that the same topic is mentioned and a bit overused in fanfiction – but I wanted to explore it to the best of my ability. I hope I don't make a big stumble and end up in a puddle. Hehe. Anyway, good question you had – is the black slime related to the village at all? I think you will land with a guess in the right direction, my friend! ;)

**Ninna**: What a pleasant surprise to hear from you! I am honored to hear you liked my stories; thank you! And I am impressed – you found a connection between the two stories! Yes, the names are quite obviously hinting at something, right? Haha. You are right on the mark! I'm excited! Thank you again for reviewing!

**Coolio02**: Haha, more of creepiness indeed. It just doesn't stop, huh? Well, we'll see. Thank you!


	8. The Other Side of Light

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Lord of the Rings.

**Rating**: PG-13 for implied adult themes. No graphic expression of disturbing content.

**Author's Note**: This can be read as a standalone piece as well as a prequel to _From Twilight to Dawn_.

Thank you to **raven002** for reviewing _A Winter Evening in Imladis, I Will Not Let You Fall_, and _To Live Another Day_. I am glad you enjoyed my writing! Thank you so much for your compliments.

Thank you also to **The Lady of Light**, for reviewing _Unfinished Earth_! That story wrenched the most emotional struggle out of me as I wrestled with the emotions that passed onto me from the story. Thank you for such precious words. I am glad I could share my work with you!

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By **Kasmi Kassim**

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**_To Love and to Sin_**

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**_Chapter 8: The Other Side of Light_**

Searing cries rang among the elves as a lone figure appeared among the trees. The whole of Mirkwood had been on watch, eyes and ears alert, hearts scorching with prayers. And they rushed to meet their weary king as he appeared, haggard and horseless, but relatively unharmed.

"My lord!"

Thranduil smiled tiredly as elves galloped toward him. A mare trotted up close, led by one elf, and he mounted with light grace despite the fatigue that permeated from his body. His eyes were shining with weariness and a new knowledge that the other elves had not been allowed to see.

As they trotted toward the castle, his eyes swept the ground, where a thin blanket of black covered the grass.

"We managed to keep it out," explained a sentinel, following the king's gaze. "But I'm afraid we will have to re-clear the path. This magic is fouler than we had imagined."

While the elf gave a detailed report of what had happened during the king's three-day absence, Thranduil remained silent.

He had seen the black river. It did indeed seem like a river once it was squelched. But he had seen the fury of the tidal waves, and he had experienced the doom it carried within its magic-dripping depths. This was no flood, nor an ordinary pollution. No elf, man or dwarf could pollute a pure river to such an extent. And there had been magic.

Magic.

The white Istar.

The foul black shadow.

Thranduil shook his head. There was a connection somewhere. But he could not grasp it. It was inconceivable to imagine that the wizard would summon the shadow. Perhaps he was the one who squelched the roaring darkness. But he was an enigma; try as he might, the elvenking could not understand why the white being had been standing in the forest, why he had smiled so, why he had pointed to the human village. Why was he there? What connection did he have with this? Did he have a connection at all?

A dark chill went up his spine, and Thranduil shuddered involuntarily.

He had followed the instructions of the old sage, and the human. And he had been led out of the forest, only to search in vain for days, without food or rest, and to return again, exhausted and dispirited. There was no trace of his child anywhere. He had been going in circles. How many days had it been since his child had been lost? The full moon had waned, and was waxing again.

Thranduil gritted his teeth, slowly bowing his head. He shut his eyes. Despair washed over his weary body, fresh and bitter. His heart burned.

_Where are you, my little Greenleaf? _

Knuckles whitened as they trembled against the steady sway of the horse's neck. His soul was being smothered under the suffocating venom of despair.

As the darkness of the king's spirit became apparent, the elf beside him stopped talking, and rode on in silence. _Grieve not, my king,_ he whispered silently. He gripped his reins tight, gently urging his horse to move faster. _We will find him._

His eyes raised themselves to rest upon the welcoming gates, and the overjoyed elves spilling out of the castle. His eyes narrowed as he breathed a prayer.

_Valar, let him be safe..._

As the band of elves surrounding the king trotted to the havens, the sun began to cast its first rays upon the soft tinge of dawn.

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"Did I tell you that I love you as my own?"

Legolas glanced at the man, and lowered his lashes once again. "Yes."

Roloth looked up from his canvas, and lovingly scanned the child up and down. "You are such a kind boy..."

The child flinched, itching to scratch his ear. It had been itching all day. And Roloth was spending more time staring at him than drawing him. He wanted stretch his limbs and give his ear a good scratch. Sighing in frustration, he bit his lip, concentrating on the scratching sound on the canvas. _Patience_, he told himself.

Finally, Roloth put his coal and canvas down with a satisfied smile. Legolas' hand shot up to his ear and eagerly began to scratch. The child tilted his head, eyeing the approaching man absentmindedly, as he idly moved his hand further down and rubbed his neck.

Roloth stood by the bed, looking down with a glimmer in his eyes. The elf-child was lying on his stomach, lazily propped up on his elbows, with nothing but a thin blanket thrown casually across his bare body. The blanket trailed down from his right shoulder and ended in a slant atop the back of his left knee, faithfully following every curve of the tender young body breathing underneath.

Legolas looked up, wide eyes blinking with curiosity, as the man slowly sank his weight upon the bed. He scrambled to his knees and, picking up his discarded tunic from the floor, began to dress himself.

"Why dress yourself if you are going to sleep?" The man's husky voice slid into his ear from surprisingly close. The child pulled away, smiling slightly at the tickling sensation. He opened his tunic, and threaded his head and arms in.

"Have I ever shown you how much I love you?" The breath was hotter, huskier. With a squirm he pulled away, and the man grabbed his arm with a mischievous grunt. He blew playfully into the elfling's ear, and Legolas burst into a giggle.

"That tickles!"

"This?" Roloth blew harder into his ear, and continued his torment while pinning the struggling elfling onto the bed. Legolas laughed and squealed, his supple body wiggling under the weight of the man, tossing up the bedcovers. With a grin, Roloth pulled the tunic off of the elfling's smooth skin, and assaulted the sensitive body with his fingers. Legolas squealed and tried to pull away, but the man had him firmly in his grip.

"Fine, fine!" panted the elfling, in between breaths of laughter, "I yield!"

Roloth halted his attack, and looked down at the elfling. The child was breathing hard, smiling bright as he squirmed. His eyes were twinkling, and his pale face was slightly flushed. And his soft body was bare underneath him, tantalizingly covered only by the wrinkled bedcovers.

"Hmmm."

Legolas watched in anticipation as Roloth seemed to consider his next move. "What do you want?" he giggled breathlessly. And he held his breath as the man above him looked down with a somber expression. There it was, that strange light again. Legolas wondered briefly if that strange glint in his eyes was only a reflection of the candlelight.

"Let me show you how much I love you."

The child smiled. "You don't have to show me." He began to slip out from under the man.

"Oh, but I do." Strong hands suddenly pressed down upon his chest. Legolas gasped softly as he was pinned in place, breathless.

"You see, little one," breathed Roloth, as his hands slowly roamed over the child's chest, "your father has lots of time to show his love...so he does not need to demonstrate..." His hands traveled around the limber waist, encircling the bare torso. "But I do not have that kind of time...so I must show you..."

Large blue eyes stared up, confused, as the hands continued to roam his body. Over his chest, his collarbone, his shoulders, and back down to his stomach, and around his back...

Suddenly, he sat up. Eying the man uncertainly, he slowly inched backwards toward the wall.

"What are you doing?"

Something was strange. Something strange about the way the man touched him. So close, so intimate, so personal. It was...unnerving.

Roloth cocked his head, raising his eyebrows innocently. "I am only showing you love...did you not say I can pretend that you are my son?"

Eyes warily rooted on the man, the elfling slowly nodded. Roloth moved closer, a faint smile on his lips. The candlelight threw an oblique shadow unto the walls.

"People who love each other always touch like this...this is the strongest love...see...?"

Hands were roaming over the body again, gaining in speed and pressure, as they snaked around the small figure possessively. Legolas sat still, unblinking, lost.

"Yes..." Roloth closed his eyes, edging closer to the motionless child. "You are beautiful...I love you...I worship you...my beautiful child..."

The bright golden flame danced through the night, while on the other side of the light danced a greater shadow.

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_**To Be Continued**_

**MCross**: Hang on a bit more, and everything will become all right again…;) Thank you for hanging in there!

**ArcherGal2932**: Glad to hear that my descriptions coincide with your wonderings. ;) I apologize for being so late in this update, but I finally figured out how to transport my writings across the sea via internet and actually make them usable. So here I am, back in fanfic writing. Ho ho. Thank you for the wonderful review!

**Illeanah**: You're right my dear, there was a Rolo something in another story with Legolas, wasn't there? It all connects, you'll see. ;) Thanks for the enthusiasm!

**Deep Sorrow**: Your instincts are probably wiser than little Legolas' innocence at the moment. Ho ho ho. Glad to hear you're enjoying this story despite the badness! Thanks!

**Aroswein**: I think they might be called pedophiles, but that's a rated R subject right there. Oops. Your anology was quite interesting. ;) Thank you for reading!

**Ithil-valon**: Hmm, I surprised you again? That is surprising to hear – not to mention gratifying. I hope you continue to enjoy the story! Thanks!

**Brazgirl**: Repulsive might be a natural sentiment toward a man like him. I'm relieved to hear that you find the flow of the story convincing. And that you are enjoying the chapters despite being creeped out by my evil writings. Haha. ;)

**Swasti**: Thank you for catching up on the reviewing of all the chapters! That was really kind of you. ;) I'm so excited to see that you're getting into my story. It's so rewarding! Thank you!

**Coolio02**: I would advise the same to Thranduil. Sigh. Let us hope together. ;) Thanks!

**Unsung Heroine**: Haha, it's always a jolly pill for me to get a review! ;) And yes, as you say, angst device is overused. I pray that my story doesn't end up using angst device just for the sake of angst…but I can never judge my own work. Sigh. Thanks for your review!

**lurker823**: Thank you for reviewing, even if late! ;) I agree that one must trust instincts more. Sigh. Especially little pretty children like Legolas. It's exciting to see that you are taking interest in the band of outlaws. Anyway, yes, I have the sequel to From Twilight to Dawn all planned out. It probably would not emerge until I finish this story, however. ;) I hope you enjoy!


	9. Untouched

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Lord of the Rings.

**Rating**: PG-13 for implied adult themes. No graphic expression of disturbing content.

**Author's Note**: This can be read as a standalone piece as well as a prequel to _From Twilight to Dawn_.

Sorry for the late update. It is proving to be rather difficult to keep up while studying abroad. Thank you all for waiting, and special thanks to your encouraging reviews! They mean much to me!

Thank you to **TobiasHawk13** for reviewing _Of Elflings and Adolescents_!

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By **Kasmi Kassim**

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_**To Love and to Sin**_

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**_Chapter 9: Untouched_**

Thranduil had barely restored his energy with magic potions before heading out into the woods again. A circle of warriors accompanied him, horses treading warily on top of slippery bile. They did not have time to clear the path; Thranduil could no longer wait to ensure safety. So he set out once more into the vast stretches of foul shadow where danger lurked, and his warriors refused to leave him. And thus the elves were moving away from the castle, their horses tentative in their steps, when they were once again struck by the shadow.

This time, the responses of the elves were swifter, surer. They turned immediately and ran back to the castle, their horses struggling to retain balance atop the oily substance, as the black waves roared behind them. The progress was slow, and they were overtaken swiftly. The elves at the castle were thrown into chaos as the warriors returned almost as soon as they were out of sight, and the gates swung open.

This time, however, the elves did not run into the havens. Upon reaching the castle gates, Thranduil suddenly turned his horse around, and stood facing the rush of black magic, and his followers were quick to form a protective circle about him. But the king would have none of it; he pulled the warriors out of his way, standing at the front of the band, as they braced themselves for the impact. The tidal waves were nearing the borders of their havens. And then, head lowered and glittering eyes riveted on the darkness, Thranduil began to chant.

It was not so much a chant as it was a command. The king called to the power of the land, the gifts bestowed upon the Firstborn; the elven magic surged from under their feet as the tidal waves crashed into the outskirts of the protected lands. And standing outside the open gates, the band of elves stood in an arc, their king commanding the evil power to draw back.

A lethal gamble, they all knew. And they watched, hearts trembling with dread and hope, their spirits a battleground of fear and faith – as the healers of the kingdom chanted fervently, adding to the summon that awakened the breath of magic that rested in the land, their king's voice rising higher and higher into the sky, power growing in his heated, vehement words; and the king's voice continued to grow, echoing against the trees with venomous fury, striking the darkened forest with majestic force, ording the foul shadow to stay back, calling for the land to shield them, protect their Firstborn with holiness –

The black waves loomed higher and higher into the sky, crashed into them with a tremendous roar - and the black sea splattered, deflected by the invisible ring of pale blue that shielded the sanctuary. The furor of the waves danced before their eyes, only a breath away; and yet the elves remained rooted in place, their backs to their gates, blazing eyes upon the shadow.

And the havens remained untainted.

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It was growing dark. Legolas sat upright, eying the man as he ate dinner. He curled up against the wall, idly fingering the blankets around him. He would have to pose again soon.

Legolas did not mind posing for this strange artist. He was obsessed with the beauty of the body, and though the elfling did not understand what he saw in that, he was willing to accept and respect a horizon of appreciation that he did not yet know. However, the way the man treated him these days...it was a change that was not wholeheartedly welcomed.

He did not understand. The elfling could not understand why this man touched him every chance he got; at first, it was a hand sliding against his collarbone, and falling away. Roloth had explained that it was a gesture of friendship. Strange, the way men showed friendship.

But then, it became more insistent, more possessive. As the elfling was arranging fruits on the table for breakfast, he would find hands snaking around his shoulders and back, holding him as the man kissed his neck; the man would approach him in between sessions of drawing, and run his fingers down his neck, his shoulders, his chest. And he would smile that strange smile, and say that it was a gesture of affection.

It was understandable. That was what the elfling continued to tell himself. The man missed his son, and doubtlessly Legolas reminded him of his son. He was lonely. He wanted to express love, for the elfling would be leaving soon. And the least he could do was to let the kind man express the love.

But it was strange all the same. No one had ever touched him thus. He tried to think back to his father's touches, how he had shown physical affection. Ada would sing him to sleep; he would kiss him. He would help him dress and undress, and they would frequently bathe together, which would result in a very wet and messy bathing chamber and a giggly elfling squirming under his father's mischievous hands. He would embrace him warmly, rock him gently as he slept in his arms. He would swing him around, pat his head, ruffle his hair, pinch his cheeks. He would chase him around the gardens, tackle him and tickle him, and kiss him again, and again...

It was not so different, was it? No, it was not so different. Legolas shook his head. After all, his father kissed him, hugged him, stroked his skin and hair...

But it was different. He shuddered. Ada's touches had not been so insistent, so possessive. His touches were light, tender. Soft touches that made him want to lean into him and cry, lean into him and sigh, and sleep, and smile. He had never held that gleam in his eyes as he eyed his body, stroking it with lingering fingers. He had always smiled and looked into him, not through him; his glimmering eyes were always upon his soul, which held the body – and Roloth's eyes seemed to see through the soul, only on the body. Always, only on the body. It was not the same.

But perhaps humans had a different way of showing affection. Yes, that had to be it. He was just showing affection in a different way. After all, weren't cultural gaps to be expected between the two races? And furthermore, Legolas had never had contact with humans before. Perhaps he was simply inexperienced. Roloth was still kind to him. He always held a smile, offered to help him undress and bathe, always asked him if there was anything he needed...

"Shall we begin?"

The voice broke his train of thoughts, and Legolas nodded mutely as the man rose from the table. He sat still, fingering the lacings of his tunic expectantly, and widened his eyes in slight surprise when the man did not reach for his canvas but instead walked toward him. Roloth sat down upon the mattress, smiling at the elfling. His body cast a long dark shadow across the walls dimly lit with a solitary candle. The flickering light was creating strange shapes, shapes that were incomprehensible.

"Tonight, I will be content to simply sleep by you. You have been humoring this old man for so long, you must be tired." His fingers lovingly stroked the child's jaw line.

Legolas tilted his head, and smiled lightly. "I am not greatly tired. You can go ahead."

The man shook his head, his fingers trailing light patterns on the elfling's neck. "No, dear Legolas, I cannot make you keep humoring me forever. Let me do you service tonight. Sleep on my bed."

The child blinked. "But I am quite comfortable on my bedding," he replied, perplexed.

And he had to slip out tonight unnoticed.

The candle danced relentlessly through the darkness.

Roloth smiled, this time a bit uncertainly. "Ah, but I would like to have you on my bed. It is bigger, and I...I would like to have a child by me in my sleep. It would comfort me."

At this, the child nodded with solemn understanding and sympathy in his young features. "I see."

Legolas plopped down onto the bed, pulling the blanket over himself. Roloth approached the table and blew out the candle. The cabin was instantly overcome with darkness.

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The night was still dark when Legolas awoke. A strange sensation was invading his peace.

Yes. He had forgotten. He had to find Ada.

It had been too long. Pehaps Ada was hurt while searching for him. The trees were whispering danger.

Blinking hard to clear his hazy vision, the elfling slowly pulled himself up. And gasped when he found that he could not.

A warm body pressed against his own, as rough hands roamed over his body. It was hot, suffocating. Legolas sucked in his breath.

"Roloth," he called softly. "What are you doing?"

"You are beautiful..." The fevered whispers were hot against his skin. He realized that his tunic was open, his chest and collarbones bare against the man's desperate touches. The hands slid up and down and around, urgently, possessively, as if they wanted to make the body under them mold to the touch. Utterly possessed.

Legolas squirmed.

"Er, eh, Roloth..."

It was hot. And somehow, not very comfortable. He wanted to sleep in peace. Or go out and find Ada.

"You are beautiful..."

The man was breathing against his chest, his hands roaming.

"Beautiful...smooth...soft...beautiful...exquisite...so tender...young..."

"Roloth..."

After a moment of debate, Legolas decided that he wanted to move away. His body began to wriggle away from the man's touch, when the man hugged his legs and pleaded hotly.

"Don't move away from me...don't deny this old man this joy..."

He rubbed his face against the child's round knees.

"I miss my son...let me pretend that you are my son in the dark...have pity, dear Legolas..."

The child froze. He tentatively let out a weary breath, closing his eyes. The man resumed his fevered touching, breathlessly rubbing his body against that of the child. "You are beautiful..." he breathed, enveloping the small smooth body with his own. "Beautiful..."

In the darkness, the touches grew in tension, in passion. Hands traveled up, down, over, under – and the tunic was undone, hair disheveled, sheets crinkled, leggings rolled up to the thighs, as the man writhed in the dark, whispering and panting, over the motionless form of the child.

Suddenly, a clear voice cleaved the fervor of the darkness.

"Stop it."

Roloth froze. The supple body under him suddenly tensed, and gentle hands pushed him off. The dim outline of the child slid out from under him, and sat up against the wall. Bright blue eyes glowed steadily toward his direction.

"You may pretend, but I cannot."

Ada did not touch him like this. This was not Ada.

The young voice suddenly seemed so wise, so strong. Roloth shivered. The child's clear eyes penetrated the darkness. He could not meet those eyes.

"No matter how hard you try, you are not my father." The boy at up straighter, watching the man. No emotion laced his words. His voice rang as steady and cold as the blue of his eyes. "Forgive me, Roloth. But you cannot be my father."

_I love Ada too much to let anyone else pretend to be him._

The silence of the night darkened as the moon leaned sadly across the sky.

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To Be Continued 

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**MCross:** I hope you enjoy the rest of the story! Haha. Don't worry, Legolas will not suffer much longer! And Neither Thranduil! …I hope. Hehehe. Thank you for reviewing!

**Unsung Heroine**: I am glad and grateful that you judge my story thus! It would be a failure on my part to have my story come across as another one of those device users. I presume, then, that I am still hanging in there on my gamble – dangerously but still hanging in there? Hahaha. Thank you!

**Brazgirl**: Hmm, yes I am evil. Sorry. Deal with it. (runs away) Seriously though, I do apologize for the disturbing imagery that I may have suggested, but nothing extreme has happened in the last chapter, I swear. I am very happy to see you making connections to the sequel though. Bravo!

**Aroswein**: Haha, I agree. Hang in there! Thank you for reviewing!

**Illeanah**: Um…sorry for giving you the creeps. ;) Things will get better, I promise. Thanks for hanging in there!

**Poke-the-penguine**: I'm glad that my story is able to entertain you! Thank you for your compliment – I will try hard to keep it up! Thank you!

**Coolio02**: Yes, I agree that Thranduil needs to hurry. But he's hurrying. I am too. I swear. Haha. Thank you for your continual support!

**ArcherGal2932**: I'm glad that you are making connections…but no, don't worry, nothing terrible has happened…yet. Don't kill me with that sword with which you killed Roloth! Ahh! Anyway, I'm sorry to make Legolas suffer and worry you, but I promise that I am solemnly and desperately working hard not to use angst device to make characters suffer just because. You, as the reader, shall be the judge of whether or not I am just torturing characters using the worst angst device possible or actually putting meaning into the work – but anyway. Thank you for hanging in there!

**Deep Sorrow**: Thank you for your encouragements! I promise that Thranduil will not be helpless in this story! Just wait bit more…;)

**Laswen**: Yes, I agree. ;) Creepy.

**Mistopurr**: No problem, glad to have you back! How is your school life and job search going? I am so grateful to hear that you like this work, especially when I believe it's beginning to be notorious for creepiness. Haha. It's very encouraging. And your response to Thranduil and the dramatic irony of it all…very flattering, I tell you. Thank you so much! I will try not to disappoint in the future as well!

**Elven Warrior Princess**: I am sorry to update so late, but here I am. And thank you for enjoying the story! I'm very flattered, especially with your Thranduil voice…haha. Enjoy!

**Swasti**: Haha, you can always take your time as long as you review! ;) But don't worry, things are getting better, I promise!


	10. Each One for His Own Survival

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Lord of the Rings.

**Rating**: PG-13 for implied adult themes. No graphic expression of disturbing content.

**Author's Note**: Due to FF Net's new features, replying to reviews on story chapters is no longer allowed and responses will be individually emailed. I cannot write a reply to your review if you review anonymously, so please bear this in mind. Thank you all.

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This can be read as a standalone piece as well as a prequel to _From Twilight to Dawn_.

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By **Kasmi Kassim**

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_**To Love and to Sin**_

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_**Chapter 10: Each One for His Own Survival **_

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Thranduil narrowed his eyes as the wind rushed past his hair. The forest path whipped past him, a green blur. Hoof beats of surrounding steeds pounded against his ears.

It was so sudden.

The havens were shielded, but all around them was the great black swamp, blocking all paths – until today. Today, everything drained away. So clean. As if nothing had ever happened.

Did the old wizard have anything to do with it?

Promising himself to think more deeply about it later, Thranduil let his mind empty and focus on galloping forth. He was nearing the western path. _Today,_ he promised silently. _I will find you today._ Let the whole population of Dol Guldur come. This time, he would not go home without his Greenleaf.

And soon, he was at the clearing. Steeling his resolve, he led the warriors down to the southwestern path. Toward the human settlement.

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Legolas rubbed his eyes and yawned, still drowsy from the previous night. He wanted to go to bed early today. He was tired from posing for Roloth all day.

"Tired, Legolas?"

The warm voice of the man broke into his clouded mind. Legolas nodded, and yawned again. Roloth laughed as he put down his canvas.

"I apologize for overworking you," he said gently, and poured a cup of water into a wooden bowl. "Here, this will relax you."

The elfling watched through heavy eyelids as the man stirred the content of the bowl, mixing a small amount of what looked like tea powder. He murmured his thanks as the man handed the bowl to him, and sleepily began to drink.

Roloth watched as the elfling put the bowl down. Yawning, the child crawled into the big bed, and curled up facing the wall. In a matter of seconds, even breathing began to hum in the quiet cabin.

The sun was beginning to tilt toward the western sky.

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Dama ran outside, color draining from his tanned face as the villagers shouted across the settlement. Most of the townspeople were already gathered at the entrance of the village, hushed into silence. Dama sucked in his breath.

Merging with the green of the trees stood a cavalry of elves. Finely sculpted faces stared impassively at the villagers, long hair billowing softly in the forest breeze behind delicately pointed ears. With glittering eyes and erect stances, the elves were wrapped in an aura of age-old experience, a confident serenity about them. And they were all dressed in green and brown, armed with swords and arrows and bows.

Breaking the stoned silence, a brown-haired elf to the side opened his mouth.

"We come in the name of Mirkwood. We come in peace."

The villagers still seemed too frozen to know how to respond. The elves looked at one another. A brief exchange of dialogue ensued, but the villagers could understand none of what they spoke.

The brown-haired elf spoke again. "Do you realize that you reside in the realm of King Thranduil of Mirkwood?"

A frail woman quickly bowed her head. "Forgive us," she pleaded softly, clutching the hem of her dress. "We were not aware."

Another man hastily followed suit. "We are refugees from afar," he said humbly, bowing his head. "We have nothing to offer you, save our humble greetings. We beg you to allow us to stay."

The elves glanced at one another again, and another rapid exchange of words followed. They seemed to be discussing something among themselves. A sandy-haired elf at the right looked at them, eyes narrowed haughtily, as he growled a chain of words. The villagers stood still, taut with fear. A dark-haired elf at the back corner replied softly, a worried expression etched upon her face. The sandy-haired elf stared at the villagers venomously, eyes flashing with anger, as more incomprehensible words slid from his tongue.

Finally, the pale-haired elf at the center front held up his hand, silencing the rest of the band. He lightly dismounted his horse, and others followed suit. This one seemed to be the leader. Dama bowed to him, holding his gaze. This elf was the one who had come looking for the elf-child earlier. So he did return to question them. Their lives now stood on the edge of a blade.

The elf did not seem to notice Dama at all. His eyes scanned the villagers, and then scoured the humble cabins scattered about. He finally opened his lips, releasing a tranquil tenor that wrapped around Dama's heart like ice.

"We have no intention of denying you sanctuary, should you need one." His eyes remained impassive. "We come to ask you for cooperation."

The villagers swallowed.

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Something was strange.

Legolas groggily shook himself back to consciousness. The sun was still shining, crimson in the western sky. It was still daylight. And that strange feeling was snaking all around his body.

Heavy breathing caught his ears. He turned his head, wondering why his vision was still so hazy. His limbs did not move. His body felt unbearably stiff and heavy. His eyes widened in panic.

The man was straddling him, his hands hungrily devouring his skin in frenzied movements. Head bowed, he seemed absorbed in touching him, admiring his body; Legolas realized that his tunic was open and pushed behind his shoulders, effectively trapping his arms behind his back. He could not feel his arms, however; they were numb.

He tried to call the man's name, and found, to his surprise, that he could not.

Struggling to move, the child strained his muscles, but the body refused to obey his commands. It was as if he was caught in a dream, where he was helpless to do anything but watch himself. And it was disconcerting, incomprehensible. What was happening?

"Ro...loth..." he managed to gasp, eyes watering with the effort. The man finally looked up. His eyes gleamed brightly against the setting sun.

"Ah, you're awake...perhaps that is for the better..."

Legolas sucked in his breath when hands assaulted him again, this time more viciously. His whole body was under the man's control, under his touch. And he could feel them, he could feel the hands; unlike the arms, his body was still awake to the touch, though it did not move.

Frustrated, the elfling wriggled more tenaciously. "Roloth..." he whispered, brows creasing. "What...are you..."

"You are beautiful..." was the only moan he received as a reply, as the man moved his head lower.

Discomfort was gradually replaced by an instinctive sense of dread. Legolas struggled, his body writhing feebly beneath the man's excited gaze. "Stop..." His eyes locked with the man's eyes. He gritted his teeth, trying desperately to move.

But even as he struggled, he was dimly aware of a thicker fog slipping in between his mind and body. His movements became more sluggish. And Roloth's mouth curled into a delighted smile as he watched the child's feeble resistance.

"But I love you so, Legolas..." he purred against the skin of his neck as he slid his teeth against the flesh.

Legolas's feet slid weakly against the sheets as he made futile attempts to raise his knees. "Stop...no...Ada..." his voice became slurred. His eyes were fighting to stay focused.

The man grinned as he grasped the child's knees, and gently began to rub his hands against them. "Ah, I know, dear Legolas. I know." He ran his cheek along the flesh of the child's thigh, sighing dreamily. Then he raised his eyes, meeting the unfocused gaze of the child, and smiled. "I am not your father...I will be your teacher, and show you pleasure...and how much I love you..."

The last thing Legolas saw was the man's bowed head, his hungry lips sucking on his smooth belly. And as the elfling fought against the onslaught of delirium, the fog slid into his mind and senses, finally enveloping him in a numb embrace of unconsciousness.

'

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'

Dama swallowed. "So, when we were all told that we had to pack up and move...to another land…we...er..." He glanced toward the lone cabin in the corner of the settlement, swallowing again nervously. He turned his attention back to the band of elves, who were watching him with unreadable expressions. "We all had to leave our homeland...and everything we owned burned to the ground...we didn't know that you owned this place...and..." His hands were becoming slick with sweat.

One of the villagers from the flock had slipped quietly away, approaching Roloth's cabin from the window side, which faced away from the company of elves. Dama prayed that he would be able to alert Roloth soon, and that the man had not touched the child. Seeing the company of elves dissipated any thought of battle that had previously entered the minds of the villagers; they were the masters of the forest, their weapons only partly contributing to the aura of power they exuded. However, the humans did not dare to openly guide the elves to the child, even if their conscience was clearer than that of Roloths', for they had failed to protect the child from the man even after discovering his presence. And if the elves were to find out -

Clearing his throat, Dama quickly reorganized his thoughts. The villagers and elves were all watching him. The air was tense, frigid to the point of breaking. He wringed his hands behind his back. The sky was streaked a brilliant shade of red.

"We have been living hard…started with nothing, built ourselves a village…more like a war camp, really...and..."

Suddenly, the elf at the lead raised his eyes. The pale blue orbs of his eyes flashed against the sunset as he looked around. Then his eyes slowly came back to rest on Dama's. For the first time, the Dama could read an expression from those eyes. And he felt a deadly chill run up his spine as cold blue eyes sliced into his.

"He is here."

Without waiting for a reply, the elf suddenly moved forward; he was a blur of gold and green as he leaped past Dama. Stunned, the villagers stared, but panic began to spread among them as the blond elf darted toward Roloth's cabin. Dama's pupils dilated with terror.

Before the blond elf could reach the cabin, however, one of the villagers moved. With a desperate cry, he threw himself on top of the elf, swinging at him. In his hands rested a scythe.

The elf dodged nimbly, and turned around to face his attacker. His eyes were sharp, his features stern and hard – like a parent who had caught his children in a lie. Dama gritted his teeth.

In the next blink of an eye, half of the men were upon the elves, shouting and screaming, tackling – they ran around the town in an effort to distract, to fetch weapons, to attack and kill. And the settlement instantly became a war site, as the animalistic urge to survive overwhelmed and tainted the crimson sky.

"Legolas!"

Amid the shouts, a clear tenor frayed with anger and desperation pierced the sounds of battle. The blond elf swiftly reached the cabin, and was about the open the door, when the door burst open. He stepped back, startled. Round blue eyes stared up at him.

"Ada...?"

A dumbfounded expression. The father stared, an instinctive alarm spreading in his veins.

Legolas stood before him, hair disheveled and tunic loose. Strangely enough, however, his bow and arrow were strapped clumsily onto his back. His eyes were hollow as they stared up into his.

Mechanically, with distant eyes, the child held out his arms; a father's instinct overwhelmed Thranduil as he swooped down to snatch the child into his arms, holding him tightly against his chest. His eyes scanned the cabin's interior beyond the elfling's motionless form.

A man stood staring, eyes fixed onto the back of the elfling. His clothes were disarrayed, as if he had just risen from bed. Thranduil's heightened senses caught a whiff of an oddly familiar scent; but what it was, he could not be sure. He quickly turned away from the man, and hurried back outside the village. His warriors were swiftly subduing the desperate humans, but the humans seemed to be beyond fear. They were charging madly, as if they had lost all reason. And fighting against those humans was another band of humans led by Dama, choosing another path to survival – by staying on the side of the powerful. They were slaying their own kind.

"Wait here," he whispered as he put his child down upon the soft grass in the clearing outside the village. "I will return shortly."

The child nodded mutely as his father disappeared into the foliage, heading back to the village. He could hear shouts and screams plaguing the air. They rang distant from his ears, a dim echo.

He was tired.

Legolas turned his head at a soft tapping of cloth. Blank eyes stared up at the white-clad sage as the old man came to stand by him, a hand protectively resting on the child's shoulder.

Soft green grass danced around the old man and child, sheltered in the comforting whispers of green leaves in the fading blue of the light, silent and listening, as screams died out in the blood-red sky.

'

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_**To Be Continued**_


	11. Love and Destruction

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Lord of the Rings.

**Rating**: PG-13 for implied adult themes. No graphic expression of disturbing content.

**Author's Note**: This can be read as a standalone piece as well as a prequel to _From Twilight to Dawn_.

'

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By **Kasmi Kassim**

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**_To Love and to Sin_**

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**_Chapter 11: Love and Destruction_**

Dama pulled out his sword, frowning at the dripping blood as he kicked the dead body away. Turning toward the elves, he fell to his knees, motioning for the rest of the surviving villagers to do so. The people kneeled humbly, trembling in fear, before the silent elves. The sky was beginning to darken.

"Forgive us. We are not affiliated with their scheme." Dama glanced at the human bodies that lay around the village. "They wanted to ensure their safety against your punishment, but we beg you to have mercy." He bowed his head, touching the ground with his bloodied hair. Other men and women followed suit.

The elves watched them impassively. They had not touched their weapons during the fray. The struggling was handled swiftly and easily, before they stepped back to observe the sudden kin-slaying among the race of men. Blood darkened the dusty ground.

It was the blond-haired elf who spoke, breaking the silence. "We thank you for keeping the child safe from the dangers of the woods. You have our gratitude and friendship."

The villagers sighed a great breath of relief. They raised their heads tentatively, glancing at one another.

"However," continued the elf, and the people froze once again. "If it is discovered that the child has been mistreated in any way – you will face the wrath of the king. If your conscience is not clear, I suggest you leave the land before your sins come back to haunt you."

The elf promptly turned away, leaving his cold words to hang in the air, and mounted his steed. The other elves followed. Dama raised his eyes, and flinched when he found the piercing blue gaze upon him.

"May your nights be free of shadows," said the elf, eying him evenly. Then he turned away.

Cold dread crept up to his heart as Dama watched the elves gallop away into the woods.

'

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'

As soon as he found his child standing alone in the clearing, Thranduil hoisted him up onto his horse, and led the warriors home. Arms wrapped tightly around his child, he buried his senses in the elfling's scent, losing himself to overwhelming relief and gratitude that made him dizzy. His companions galloped around him in a protective ring.

"Legolas," he whispered, kissing the top of the child's head. "Legolas, my little Greenleaf..."

Legolas responded by leaning back into his chest, sighing and closing his eyes, allowing his father to envelope him with warmth. He was still confused; there was a strange fog clouding his senses, lingering at the edge of his consciousness. He clutched the hem of his father's tunic tightly, praying that this was not a dream. And as his alertness slowly returned, he began to realize that he was riding in the darkened woods, with familiar figures galloping swiftly around him. And he was leaning against a broad chest, held tight by familiar arms, bathed in a comforting scent that only one person possessed.

"Ada."

Suddenly, tears stung his eyes. Ada. How long had it been since he last saw him? Since he last heard that comforting tenor calling him Greenleaf, felt those strong arms around his waist, that broad chest behind his back? It seemed like millennia ago. The memory of Ada and home seemed so distant, so ancient.

A gentle hand reached around his body, tenderly wiping his tears away. "All will be well," murmured a voice against his ear, as the grip around his waist tightened. "Worry not, little Greenleaf. Ada is here."

And it was true. Everything would be all right again. No more strange man touching him. No more posing all day, no more peeking out the window through a drape of blankets. No more fearing in the darkness of a cabin, hiding in the middle of a foreign world. Everything would return to normal. Ada was here, and he was taking him home.

Suddenly exhausted, the elfling leaned limply against his father's chest, drifting back to sleep.

The elves rode tirelessly into the havens and straight into the courtyard, passing the threshold as the gates opened welcomingly before them.

Amid the exclamations and tears of joy and relief, the warriors dismounted, and hurriedly set about tending to affairs that the king would not wish to be bothered with. Holding the elfling carefully in his arms, Thranduil leaped lightly off of his horse, landing without a sound on the ground. His mind was reeling as he absentmindedly answered the smiles and bows and joyful exclamations that greeted him on the way to his room. He had already scanned the child for injuries; to his relief, he had found none. Perhaps the humans had really been kind to him. He would thank them later, if that was the case. But that would come later.

Swinging his doors open, Thranduil passed his study, and made straight for the bedchamber. With an arm supporting the child, he managed to unclad himself of his bow and quiver, and lay down his sword. He lifted the blanket over his great white bed, and lowered the elfling onto the mattress. But the child's fingers were curled around his tunic tightly, and he snuggled in his sleep as his father tried to put him down. With a smile, Thranduil dropped the blanket and hoisted the child more securely into his arms. He walked back out into the spacious study, and with the elfling still latched onto his chest, kindled the hearth.

Bright flames illuminated the chamber with warmth as the king settled down upon a settee, eyes lowered onto the child in his arms. And as the fire burned away in the night, the silhouette of the king did not move from its place.

'

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The first sensation Legolas became aware of was a soft touch of lips upon his cheek. Unconsciously he snuggled closer, sighing in contentment as his father's familiar scent enveloped him in the fog of sleep. The sun was shining bright.

He loved waking to his father's kiss in the morning. Because Thranduil was not always free to spend time with him, and because his undivided attention was a treat that the elfling could not dare hope for on a regular basis, Legolas cherished the mornings when his father would walk in silently and sit by him, kissing him awake with the first rays of the sun. It was the most blissful feeling Legolas knew of, a blessing that brought back the happy times with his mother – and made him happier than usual for the rest of the day. He would be absolutely certain in his knowledge of his father's love for him, for the soft warmth and whispers, the tender touch, the scent – all of them spoke to him in a way that the man's touch could not.

The man.

Legolas frowned, and blinked his eyes. Where was the man? He was not in bed.

When the haze cleared from his eyes, he looked up to see his father's pale blue eyes smiling down upon him. And then, another kiss. He blinked.

"Good afternoon, sleepy little elf."

The elfling scrunched up his nose and smiled, eliciting a soft chuckle and another kiss on the forehead. He found himself being cradled in his father's arms, as if he were still a babe – but then, he was a very small elfling for his age. He opened his mouth, and moved his lips in a soft murmur.

"Ada – am I home?"

It felt so new, this return to normalcy. As if it had been forever ago. He found himself wondering about the cabin, and its dark, cramped interior. Did he miss it? Perhaps. He had grown accustomed to it.

Thranduil gently pinched his elfling's cheek, laughing softly as the child scrunched his face.

"Yes, little one. You are home."

_And I will never lose you again._

Thranduil kissed him slowly, tenderly, as lips met skin, the brows, the cheeks, the forehead, the chin. Legolas stilled.

Suddenly, the child sat up. His eyes had a look of confusion mingled with fear, a wild and frightened animal who did not understand the source of its threat. Thranduil pulled back instinctively, still holding the elfling secure in his arms.

"Do you love me?"

The question startled him. Thranduil recovered quickly, however, and bent down to plant another smiling kiss upon the child. "Of course I do."

The child looked so young, so old, so confused, so mature. He stared up at him, a strange dread spreading in his darkened eyes.

"Do you love me?"

Small hands slow crept in closer, sliding against his sides. However, instead of wrapping around his waist, the fingers slowly delved under his tunic, seeking the smooth flesh underneath. Thranduil watched, perplexed, as his child breathed his whisper fearfully, looking up with that strange expression of despair and hope in his eyes.

"Ada..."

The hands were roaming over bared skin, laying the tunic lacings apart, rubbing against his sides and sliding around his chest. Groping, stroking, skimming. And the child continued to stare up with those eyes, voice breaking into a hoarse whisper. Heat began to gather under the pale-eyed elf's skin. And the child continued to whisper, a fevered plea.

"Do you love me...?"

A hand snatched both wrists into a death grip.

Smoldering flames of ice pierced into the elfling's frightened ones, trembling rigidly. Pale sunlight cooled against the window.

A tight silence stretched between father and son as they stared into each other, the father's eyes cutting into that of his child, searching, screaming. The elfling sucked his breath. The crushing grip was trembling, deadly against his small hands.

And then, Thranduil pulled Legolas into a crushing embrace.

"I love you," he whispered, face invisible as pale hair streamed down around him to merge with that of his child. Pulling the child closer, closer still, he clutched tight with his fingers, rocking his body back and forth, back and forth, fevered whispers seeping into the elfling's ears. Tense fingers dug into a fragile back. And he continued to pull the child closer, fervently murmuring into his soft hair, arms wrapped tightly around the small body. And rocked him back and forth, back and forth.

"I love you, my little Greenleaf. I love you."

The hot voice dissolved into a vehement defiance, an outraged cry, a passionate plea. And he continued to whisper into his hair, clutching him tight against his breast. And the whispers dissolved into broken breaths.

'

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'

Dama looked up, eyes freezing with dread. So it has come.

Arrows burst forth from the foliage, slicing the air with venomous whispers. And soon, more arrows followed, tips blazing with a vengeful wrath. The villagers screamed and scattered, running blindly, groping madly, as vehement fire continued to rain mercilessly on them, wrapping the village into a flare of light.

From the bushes burst forth elves on horseback, battle cries tearing out of their throats as they ran around the settlement madly, shooting flames at the wretched lives that fled, raining death upon the doomed creatures. And cabins were swept up into wilder flames, the golden red dance of the fire becoming more frenzied, more alluring, more deadly.

The elvenking remained motionless on horseback, watching in silence as the people fled in terror and elves whirled about in a frenzy, unleashing their avenging fury.

_...Do you love me...?_

His glassy eyes reflected the blazing fire as the flames wrapped the entire village in its wild and mournful embrace, rising higher and higher into the crimson sky.

'

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_**To Be Continued**_

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	12. A Father's Choice

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Lord of the Rings.

**Rating**: PG-13 for implied adult themes. No graphic expression of disturbing content.

**Author's Note**: This can be read as a standalone piece as well as a prequel to _From Twilight to Dawn_.

'

'

By **Kasmi Kassim**

'

'

**_To Love and to Sin_**

'

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**_Chapter 12: A Father's Choice_**

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The valley was beautiful, as always. Gentle sunlight rested on the window, warming the chamber in a mild comfort. But the hearts in the room were distant from the warmth offered by the sun.

He looked up from the quiet breaths of the child, and faced the motionless figure by the window.

"You had him sleep all this way?"

A slow nod. He sighed.

He had felt him coming. He had felt the whispers of the trees, the vibrant breaths spreading against the green waves. The figure that now stood before him had galloped without stopping, praying and cursing and threatening the Valar, urging his horse to go faster. Racing against the wind, teeth clenched and eyes burning. And he had galloped out to meet him.

No words had been exchanged when they met. He knew what happened. He had seen it. A bit too late, as usual. He was always too late.

And Glorfindel had grabbed his trembling arms and stared him in the eye, wordlessly, as his knees almost gave out under his weight. Never too late, he had whispered fiercely. Never too late.

Ah, how wrong he was, for once.

"You know why I come."

He had nodded mutely as the intense blue eyes looked into his, desperate, threatening, pleading. And he had taken the motionless child into his arms, had carried him to the healing ward, as his twin sons flanked him in silence. And he had sat by him since, watching the elfling's quiet breathing, telling himself lies.

"Do not play with me."

It had happened so fast. Even if it had not, he would not have moved to block the rough hands that pressed him into a deadly grip against the wall. And he knew it. He could not deceive a father's heart.

"You know I do not come to place blames."

Ah, he knew, he knew. And how much easier it would be, to accept the blame, to beg for forgiveness. To let them believe that it was his fault and things could mend from there.

He had been telling lies. And Thranduil was no fool.

And so here he was, seated, silent, motionless, as his companion looked out the window, back turned toward him. Elrond sighed quietly.

"I can repair the wounds, Thranduil. But I cannot take away the memories – I cannot undo what had been done."

Ah, what clear eyes the child had had. The crystalline blue that had sparkled with vivacious laughter only a month ago. Now cursed to be forever clouded.

Thranduil suddenly turned, gaze resolute. He was eying his child intensely as he stepped closer.

"I have heard of a great healing magic of yore...that erases memories from one's mind."

Elrond's head shot up. Dark orbs clashed with pale blue. The elvenlord clenched his teeth. How did Thranduil know?

Ah, but he had forgotten. Thranduil was a father. And he made it his affair to know, for his child was aspiring to be a healer. Of course he would keep himself knowledgeable concerning ancient tales and rumored lore. And that was what he had clung to, as he galloped in the eye of a gale, his steed's hooves thundering against the dust.

A tense breath was released into the air.

"You tread on thin ice, Thranduil."

The elvenking's eyes glittered nonetheless. "Do it, Elrond."

Elrond abruptly rose, robes swirling about his feet as he turned away from the bed and briskly moved to the window. He needed some air.

Snapping the window wide open, he breathed deeply into the scent of the trees. His head was spinning. He had not rested since the child had arrived. But he knew that the reason lay elsewhere. There had been no physical injuries to heal.

Exhaling deeply, he turned and faced the king. Dark gazes met and sparred in the air.

"The dangers of mental rupture increase by age." He glanced down at the elfling, who was sleeping peacefully on the bed. "If he had been a bit younger...you must consider the risk, Thranduil."

"I have."

The king slowly approached. His gaze burned into Elrond's. The lord of the valley sucked in his breath.

"Even if I succeed, his memory might resurface in the future if triggered enough."

"I know."

Elrond pressed his fingers against the glass window. Knuckles were whitening as Thranduil stepped closer, closer.

"Thranduil..."

Suddenly, the menacing aura in the king seemed to break. Turning away, he looked toward his motionless son.

"If it had happened to me," he whispered, voice steady and low, "I would have struggled to overcome, to live on through the nightmares." A rueful smile appeared at his lips as he roughly shoved back a stray strand of hair behind his shoulder. "Just another challenge to overcome, I would have told myself."

He turned back to Elrond. The elvenlord swallowed as he watched the haunting light that trembled in those glazed eyes. The fiercest warrior in the land, Prince Thranduil, collapsing before his child.

"But as a father, I cannot let my child live with this scar." He came closer and faltered, helpless, lost. His whisper was a plea. "I cannot fail him again."

Elrond held his breath.

He would have done anything to save Celebrian from her torment. He would have placed himself between her and her nightmares, if possible. But she had not allowed it. A pain greater than that of physical agony was that of watching another's suffering. And being helpless to relieve the pain. Knowing that one could have saved that person from the torment.

But was it worth the risk?

The decision lay in the father. And Thranduil had made his choice.

"Help me, Elrond," pleaded the king, his pale eyes forlorn. "Help me protect my child."

With a defeated sigh, Elrond closed his eyes.

He was a father also. And he knew he could not win.

'

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Elrond creased his brows, concentration marring his smooth forehead. Heat and light emanated from his body as he remained motionless by the elfling's bed. Some space behind him were his sons, fully grown; they were standing on either side of the room as if guarding the occupants from an invisible enemy. Thranduil stood on the other side of the bed, silent, vehement.

It had been too long. Elrond slowly bit his lip, shutting his eyes tighter. Too long since he had last performed this operation. He opened his eyes again, clearing them into focus as practiced hands brushed against the elfling's pale skin. His lips moved in a silent and relentless murmur.

Beside the elvenlord lay ewers of potion and pouches of ground herbs. A cool basin of water lay nearby, and Elrohir occasionally approached his father to gently wipe the sweat off of his brow with a damp cloth.

Closing his eyes once again, Elrond's mind probed deeper, deeper into the elfling's abyss of memory. Something was clouding it. Some unpleasant fog, a device set up to shield the child from the memories. He gently waded through it, tentatively groping his way in the darkness.

There. There it was. The shield.

He clenched his teeth as he fought against the fierce barrier of the child's mind. Open for me.

Elrond had tried to pass this gate years ago, when this boy was still a babe. When he had encountered his first orcs in Mirkwood. And he had failed miserably. Now, it loomed before him, eerily silent. No screams of anguish could be heard from the other side. He could not tell what the child was dreaming about. Perhaps he was not dreaming at all. But this was hardly the case, for invisible dreams always lurked on the other side, if silent. And without knowledge of what lay beyond that wall, Elrond was lost.

Tentatively, he began to call once again. Bidding the youth to let him enter, to trust him with his innermost secrets.

An unconscious sigh of relief escaped his lips as the gate yielded.

Gently pressing himself inside, he looked around, comforting the tense darkness as he took in his surroundings. The silence was apprehensive, waiting for him to make a move – it was a phenomenal improvement from the last time, of course, for the child's mind recognized Elrond and trusted him to probe deep within. But how far he would be allowed to go, Elrond did not know.

As his eyes adjusted to the dark, Elrond's eyes widened in silent horror.

In the darkness was a small bed, placed against the wall of a modest cabin. On the bed sat a wide-eyed elfling, staring curiously at a man who sat a bit away. The man's dark head was bowed as his hand busily sketched away on his canvas. He raised his head, and gave instructions to the child. The elfling nodded, and began to unlace his tunic.

Elrond's hands clenched and unclenched uneasily, as he commanded his feet to be still, his throat to be silent. And the elfling continued to undress himself until he was wearing nothing but his smooth white skin, and draped a thin blanket around himself. His round shoulders gleamed in the flickering candlelight as the man stared hungrily, eye running down from prominent collarbones to the chest that disappeared into the blanket, and the thighs that reappeared from underneath the blanket. The child turned an innocent gaze toward the man, and the man swallowed, nodding and smiling forcefully. His trembling hands began to draw. And the elfling remained still, bared neck craned forward, hair spilling over his shoulder and onto the sheets, eyelashes lowered – while the man's lustful gaze devoured his features, the innocent body that was so suggestively, tantalizingly laid before him.

The darkness repeated this scene over and over, and Elrond knew that the elfling was trying to understand. He could not understand why the man had looked at him so, had commanded him to undress himself. He could not understand the obsession. And soon, Elrond was hearing words, lustful words that slithered around the darkness. Words that were said to the child, words that the child could not comprehend. And words that would haunt him until he grew old enough to understand – and be broken with the trauma.

Fiercely stilling the trembling hands that wanted to fly up to his ears, Elrond raised his arms, beginning to concentrate on the surge of magic that remained at his fingertips. He had spent much magic just to travel this far; it was doubtful whether he was even strong enough to perform this operation, and retaining enough energy to safely pull out of this forbidden chamber was out of the question. This spell was not taboo without a reason.

But then again, Elrond was the not most powerful healer in the land without a reason either.

As the magic intensified around him, he looked around, and found that he had managed to still the replays of the images. The darkness groaned and tossed; it did not approve of Elrond's manipulation of its psyche. Elrond gritted his teeth. Legolas was young, but not young enough to be untouched. His subconscious mind was beginning to reject Elrond's ministrations, as familiar as it was with the elvenlord. Just like years ago.

But this time, he could not afford to fail. Not now, when he had come this far. Thranduil would not be able to save the elfling this time.

Coaxing and soothing, Elrond continued to gently warp the images and bury them into the darkness, all the while giving reassurances to the uneasy darkness that breathed heavily upon him. And finally, when the scenes were completely gone, he dropped his arms.

He was not finished. Something was wrong.

From the darkness, a scene slowly materialized. The elfling was lying on the bed, sleeping soundly in broad daylight. The sun was tilting obliquely toward the west. And the man approached, stripping himself of his worn clothing, and climbed onto the bed. And he towered over the elfling, on his hands and knees, and began to unlace the child's tunic. And the child did not wake.

Elrond's hands froze.

As the man roughly peeled the tunic off of the child's shoulders and pushed it underneath his soft arms, pinioning them, the child began to move groggily. His eyes slowly opened, and he tried to speak, but his movements were easily stilled with the weight of the man who was busy feeling the skin underneath. The child seemed to sense something amiss, for he continued to squirm, eyes hazy with grogginess.

So this was it. This was the key.

Elrond raised his weary arms once again with newfound determination, and began to focus his energy once again. Desperation underlined his fevered murmurs as he pooled his power; he was racing against time. The elfling was now halfway conscious, struggling weakly against the dominant strength of the man.

Elrond's chant suddenly halted. Time stopped still.

Tentatively, the lore master took a step forward. The man remained where he was, hands on the elfling's chest and thigh, eyes on the smooth stomach. The child also remained still, half-lidded eyes staring blankly at the looming figure above him, body writhing in a feeble protest. Elrond briskly walked forward.

As he neared the small interior of the cabin, he felt his body being pushed backward. He persisted, this time using stern words to make the darkness yield.

The child slowly shifted, and fell into a limp sleep.

Elrond clenched his teeth as he once again felt a barrier, blocking him from going further. His eyes burned as he fought against the fierce protection. Open for me.

At last, the shadow relented. Elrond reached the forbidden sanctuary, and lay his hands upon the man's. He removed them from the elfling's skin, and swiftly removed the rest of the body away from the child. The man now lay on the floor in the same awkward position, frozen still in his lustful state, as the elfling slumbered on.

Elrond finally relaxed his tight control upon the sinuous dark walls. They broke loose, and instantly covered the sleeping child protectively, hiding him away into its depths. And the darkness continued to pour, devouring the man on the floor as well as the interior of the cabin itself. When certain that all of the images were safely buried in the darkness, Elrond began to release his magic without hesitation. Soon, the darkness was swarming all around him, swallowing the hollow caverns of the space where he stood, following his motions obediently, as if mesmerized. And Elrond continued to step backwards slowly, directing the darkness to follow, until he once again stood at the threshold. With sudden ferocity, he pushed the darkness back to where it was. And hastily exited.

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Elladan clutched his father's shoulders and gently drew his head back, his dark hair falling over his shoulders, as Elrond raised his head and drew in a painful breath as if he had been long submerged in water. The silence of the room was broken.

Elrond almost collapsed onto his son's body as Elladan sank to his knees, arms wrapped around his father's back supportively. Elrohir drenched the cloth in the cool water and wiped the elvenlord's fevered brows. The intense light that had enveloped the lore master during the long hour of rigid silence was beginning to fade.

Thranduil's eyes bore into Elrond's as the elvenlord raised his head wearily. Elrond let out a weak smile.

"He will be well."

And letting out the painful breath that he had been holding, Thranduil bowed his head in silence.

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_**To Be Continued**_


	13. The Scars of Love

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Lord of the Rings.

**Rating**: PG-13 for implied adult themes. No graphic expression of disturbing content.

**Author's Note**: This can be read as a standalone piece as well as a prequel to _From Twilight to Dawn_.

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By **Kasmi Kassim**

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_**To Love and to Sin**_

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**_Chapter 13: The Scars of Love_**

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The chamber was golden, luminescent with the warmth that streamed in through the window. Outside the window were tall trees of green, a vibrant dance of gentle winds. The day was calm, the chamber quiet; the sky was blessed with a smiling azure hue.

One with this warmth was a golden visage seated by the window, shimmering hair tumbling down and around his propped-up elbow and rendering him a part of the rays of the sun. He was as unmoving as a sculpture, the stillness only disarrayed by thin strands of hair faintly blowing about in the zephyr breeze. Only his eyes moved, seemingly still and yet following every move of the children outside.

Legolas was laughing as he raced through the trees, occasionally being dragged down to a wrestling match with one of Elrond's sons. His nimble movements prevented him from being seen often, and Thranduil could only catch glimpses of golden hair as he swirled about among the trees, drifting in and out of the father's keen sight.

It had not been long since the child's recovery from the deep sleep. After awakening, he had jumped out of bed, crying that he had to go home, that his father would be worried. Finding Thranduil sitting by the bedside was a great surprise, to say the least. Thranduil had explained with a scowl that he could not wait, and had come to take him home. And Legolas had been ecstatic.

_I missed you, Ada_, he had laughed, throwing his arms around his father's neck. And Thranduil had smiled, had pulled him close and buried his face in the soft hair, fingers stroking slowly.

_I missed you too, little Greenleaf._

He let out a quiet breath.

Gaze upon his swift-footed elfling, he remained still, bathed in the afternoon sun. A soft breeze swept past the trees, reaching up to his face; a whisper of comfort reached his heart, and he closed his eyes gratefully. The whispering breeze caressed his long tresses, slid down his shoulder and onto his back, mingling with the golden river of warmth. And when Thranduil opened his eyes, the breeze was gone, returned once more to the soft azure of the sky.

And silently seated against the trees that danced with the merry laughter of the child, his light blue eyes still and translucent against the halo of the sun, the elf's fierce beauty was but gentle, fragile.

The door behind him closed with a soft click. Thranduil did not turn to look.

Was it worth it?

He closed his eyes.

Quiet footsteps approached, slow and uncertain and yet not uneasy. Above the soft footfalls rang the echo of his child's laughter.

That alone made it worth it. Did it not?

Opening his eyes wearily, he took in a light breath. He was tired. But this was not yet over. He knew this tension that pervaded the air between them, the dark secret of what was to be unspoken and unseen. He watched the deep shade of burgundy invade his vision, Elrond leaning one hand on the windowsill to look outside. Deeply troubled eyes turned to look into his own, and Thranduil did not look away. How he wished he could.

With the entrance of the elvenlord, the magic was broken, and though the warmth and brightness remained, their hearts groaned with weariness. The room was filled with shadows, despite the sunny laughter that rang outside the walls. The darkness of the secret that threatened to be spilled out of its captivity, to bring back the nightmares. The nightmares were not yet over. And he was unsure that they would ever be.

"What is done is done," said Elrond, answering the unspoken question that hung heavily in the air. He watched Legolas as he succeeded in tackling a much taller Elladan before being thrown up into a tree by Elrohir. Loud protests and laughter echoed among the rustling trees. The wind was fair today.

"Let us hope that worries are for naught, that it will forever be buried in the past."

Elrond's quiet voice rang with deep reverberation in the room. Thranduil's gaze lingered a moment longer upon his child and, without a word, he rose and moved toward a table in the center of the room. Elrond followed with the same slow grace, picking up a wine bottle and a pair of glasses from the cabinet on his way to the table.

"You said -"

The voice was abrupt, but not sharp – like a jagged edge of a broken glass, too jaded to scratch, nothing left but pain.

"- those...caresses, if one can call them so-" he gritted his teeth, his knuckles whitening against the table, "- differ not from more...intimate activity – in the resulting trauma."

A hot breath followed, a painful unearthing. Elrond seated himself on a chair facing the young king. A gentle trickle of liquid flowed through the silence.

"Yes, only touches he experienced, and those touches are enough – but those, too, are buried into oblivion." His tone was calm, patient. Thranduil drank mechanically out of his glass. Elrond eyed him while drinking from his own. A toast would have been a sad irony at this point.

After heaving a breath, Thranduil leaned forward. His elbows against the table, taut fingers violently raked back loose strands of hair from his bowed head. A maelstrom beginning to whirl within, a lash of vicious gales that tossed him about. It was violent, terrible – and Elrond did not know how to calm it. Whether he should, he did not know.

Finally the violent raking of hair ceased mid-motion, pale knuckles protruding from the strong-boned hand. Green-blue blood veins could be seen, as the tendons that protruded with tension. He had thinned.

"What a spectacular mistake," muttered Thranduil, a quiet laugh trembling through taut fingers. "Some king I am, failing to be a father." The laughter sifted through his hair. He was then silent.

Forehead leaning heavily forward into the hand propped upon the table, Thranduil remained unmoving. Under the shade of the motionless fingers, his eyes were pale, still. He took a deep breath. And his silver-glazed eyes continued to stare, wide and trembling and motionless, into a distance, into himself, into the abyss.

Elrond reached out and gently touched his shoulder. Thranduil flinched. Then he let out a weary sigh.

"I killed them. Did you know that?" The laughter was quieter now, bitter. "So blinded was I by rage that I, the just king of elves, drove helpless humans out of the forest."

The melodic voice, praised throughout the land for its clarity and strength, was now soft, tired. "I burned down their refuge. And their screams – the fire, and my child's innocence and trust and the memories I erased – I will have to live with that for the rest of my life."

His head bowed further into the bone-bared hand. Rivulets of hair slid forward, gliding over his shoulder and shadowing his face. And in his golden sanctuary, he did not move, did not speak.

Elrond bit his lip. He had no words of comfort ready.

There was once a time when there was good, and there was evil. And there were also times when good became evil, and evil became good. And there were times, when the measure of justice and goodness became rusted and broken, when good was evil and evil was good, and there was no more good or evil anymore.

Was it evil to avenge one's beloved child?

Was it good to love an unknowing youth in such a way?

The world no longer turned its pages in fairy tales, and legends were a thing of the past. Happy endings were no longer; and among the chaos of the new world was a just king and a loving father, who was thrown into the abyss of wretchedness, and no one could judge him to be evil, and yet evil he had done – but Thranduil was no longer good, and he was yet not evil, for he was only Thranduil, a father, an evil, a wretched soul. And the only thing that existed before them, the only reality that was tangible and pure, was the heat of his tears, the depth of his agony.

Perhaps the world had lost its sanity. Perhaps the only right way to steer through these confusing times was through one's emotions.

Elrond closed his eyes. The sun yet invaded his vision.

"Scars," he murmured, tracing the smooth surface of his wineglass with slow fingers. "Do you know what hurts a child more than any other, Thranduil?" He reached out, dark eyes opening to focus on the bundle of weary strands of hair before him, gently sliding them behind hunched shoulders. The younger elf raised his face, a defeated sigh escaping his lips. He shook his head.

Love? Hate? Cruel words? He did not know.

Perhaps waiting for his father to come to help him – waiting in vain.

Thranduil let out a bitter smile. With a deep inhalation, he closed his eyes and reopened them, focusing them on Elrond. The older elf was no longer watching him; his dark eyes were upon the part of the room which the sun could not reach.

Good and evil no longer fought, no longer existed; the plain world where good and evil were pitted against each other, where good always triumphed and the good people lived happily ever after, was no longer. These things were only a legend now, living and breathing in the heart of every creature, mingling and embracing, one suppressing the other, entangled in a never-ending dance.

But despite the shifting of the world, the groaning of the earth upon this new age, Elrond remained Elrond, Thranduil remained Thranduil, and a flower remained a flower.

Perhaps the only thing that changed was the way he saw the world now; perhaps all that had happened was that he acquired new eyes, wiser eyes perhaps. And his heart was sadder for it.

Elrond closed his eyes. His heart sank.

And amid the chaos of it all, amid the continuous confusion and ceaseless movement of the world beheld by ever-changing eyes of those who lived to look upon it, the only thing that was sure, the only thing that now existed plain and visible before them, was the scar that was left by the fierce wrestling of the entangled entities of what used to be once called good and evil. One was no longer sure, no longer understood the world around oneself, but the child's scar was there, and innocence had suffered amid the brutal brawl of the non-innocents. The scars did not fade.

Alas that the scars were brought by none other than love – no matter how twisted it had become.

Elrond's hand continued to stroke his companion's hair. "A parent's tears, my friend. Your tears."

Thranduil did not move. His gaze was lost, forlorn, young. Elrond raised his eyes, his gaze moving toward the window through which sunlight and childish laugher seeped in yet.

Elrond's hand slowed to a stop, sliding down the length of the younger elf's hair and resting on his back. "Do not falter, Thranduil."

Without a word, Thranduil bowed his head. And the two remained silent, enveloped in the gentle warmth of the sun.

Merry laughter echoed bright against the azure blue sky.

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_**The End**_

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This is the end, my friends. I bow to my patient readers who have waited for updates through the delays, and thank the kind reviewers for giving me feedback, critical or complimentary. This episode has come to a close, but it is only the beginning – as those of you who have read the prequel would know – so if you will, I ask that you watch out for my next posting and share my journey next. Thank you!


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